#bit loose but I wouldn’t mind this dress in the next size up since it’s kinda old lol

[miss-floral-thief]

lol it’s not that much warmer but bit sweaty tho it was kinda gloomy out earlier

[in-my-feels-probably]

for your slytherin boys reacts, what about how they react when you dress up as them for halloween? :)

How the Slytherin Boys React to You Dressing Up as Them For Halloween

Request: for your slytherin boys reacts, what about how they react when you dress up as them for halloween? :)

Hi! Happy Halloween! I hope everyone is having a good day. I’m sorry to those of you who wanted more of the boys, but I only included Theo, Enzo, and Mattheo on this one. If you want to see some of the other boys in my future work, please let me know. These three are just who I’m focused on right now. Also, I wrote this with a fem reader in mind, I hope that’s ok. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this :)

(Warnings: nothing? idk, theo’s might be just a tiny bit suggestive. also vague descriptions of size differences. let me know if i missed anything)

—

Theodore Nott

Instead of wearing his clothes, you’d dress up in something inspired by him. But you’d still use a few things of his just so he’d get the point.

You wouldn’t even be able to walk in the door before he’d notice your costume and smirk.

He’d tease you about it, but he’d secretly think it was so attractive. You’re literally advertising that you're his girl with the costume and he isn’t about to complain about that. 

He’d just have to compromise somehow.

You thought your costume was pretty subtle. A white button down shirt and a black skirt with sheer tights (or slacks, whatever you’re more comfortable with.) You had a green tie loosely hanging around your neck, a few of Theo’s rings on your fingers. You stole a cigarette from his coat pocket earlier that day, and you had it tucked behind your ear where it could be seen.

You considered nicking his lighter too, but you knew he would have come looking for it immediately, and you wanted your costume to be a surprise.

You went up to his dorm right before the party since you wanted to go together. You barely made it through the door before you heard a chuckle, making you pause in the doorway.

“What?”

“Nothing, pretty girl,” he smiled, waltzing over to you. “You didn’t tell me you were going to the party as me.”

Your shoulders fell as you looked up at him. “How did you know?”

Theo grinned down at you, reaching to pluck the cigarette from behind your ear. He placed it back into his pocket, pulling you into his chest as your face soured. He swayed you back and forth, chuckling.

“You look beautiful, darling. It’s a good costume. I wish you would have told me, though. How are people going to know I’m yours if I have nothing of yours to show for it?”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. You let go to reach for your bag, pulling out a tube of lipstick Pansy had let you borrow. You smeared it on, tossing it back in your bag before grinning up at Theo. You hooked your finger under his chin, pulling him down to your level before dramatically peppering kisses across his cheek and jaw. When you pulled away, he had perfectly shaped stains across his face.

“Better? Can we go down now?”

“In a minute,” Theo grinned, pulling you closer. “I think you missed a spot. Pucker up, love.”

Mattheo Riddle

Dressing up as him was pretty much an excuse to wear his clothes.

But you made sure to pay attention to the details, fake blood and all. He’d know immediately the second he looked at you.

Secretly was excited about couples costumes, but he thinks this is way more funny. You’d promise to do one with him next year.

Would absolutely match your energy and dress up as you for the party.

You had stolen a few of Mattheo’s rings a week or two prior to the party, feigning innocence when he’d ask if you had seen any of them. You wore one of his long sleeve button down shirts and a black tie, one of his jackets over your shoulders. You let Pansy do your makeup, and she gave you fake bruising and a cut over the bridge of your nose, completed with a swipe of fake blood.

You’d come up to his dorm to surprise him before the party, excitedly standing in front of his bed to show him your costume.

He’d smirk as he stood, coming to stand in front of you. “You’re going to the party as me?”

“Clearly,” you mused, grinning when he raised a brow at your teasing. “How do I look?”

He hooked a finger under your jaw, tilting your chin up. “You look beautiful, darling. But don’t you think we’re missing something?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You don’t think you’re going down there like that alone, do you?” He asked, smoothing his thumb over your cheek. “I want something of yours. It’s only fair, darling. Besides, I don’t have a costume.”

You chuckled, reaching for his hand. “Do I even have anything that would fit you? What, you want one of my dresses?”

“I’ve got the legs for it.”

You couldn’t help but grin, tugging him along in the direction of your dorm. “Yes, yes you do. Come on, let’s see if we can find you something.”

Mattheo ended up showing up to the party in some of your clothes looking even better than you did in them. Your friends had plenty to say, whistling and making eyes as he confidently strutted around. He probably would have even worn your heels if he could have fit into them. But he didn’t need them—you both could barely keep your eyes off of each other the whole night anyway, glued to each other's side. Heels would have just slowed you down. 

Lorenzo Berkshire

He wouldn’t even recognize you were dressed up as him.

He’d just think you looked cute in his clothes and forget all about how you were supposed to be in a costume. You’d have to actually point it out for him to realize what you were doing.

He’d think it was really sweet, but he’d feel a little left out. He’d ask for something of yours so he could be dressed as you, and he’d wear it proudly.

You met Enzo in the Common Room, setting down your cup as you spotted him. You smiled at his costume. He was a vampire again—he wore the same costume every year because he liked wearing the velvet cape, and it was, in his own words, cooler than a superhero with a cape.

You walked over, spinning him around. “Hi, love. You look nice…as always.”

Enzo could barely let out a chuckle before he realized you were wearing his favorite shirt, the cuffs rolled up around your wrists because they were hanging too low. You had popped a few of his rings on your fingers, charming them to fit you for the night instead. 

“Pretty girl,” he smiled, wrapping his arms around you. “You look so cute. But I thought you were wearing a costume tonight?”

You nodded into his chest. “I am…I’m you.”

Enzo pulled away and placed his hands on your shoulders, holding you at arms length. He looked you over once more, a giddy smile on his face. But his smile slowly fell, making you raise a brow.

“What is it?”

“Nothing…I kinda just wish you told me,” he shrugged, trying to brush it off. 

You shook your head in confusion. “What? Why?”

“Well, I would’ve worn something of yours. Then we could’ve come as each other. I’ve always wanted to do a couples costume.”

You felt your heart warm at his words, taking his hand in yours. 

“And retire the vampire costume? I couldn’t do that to you,” you mused, tugging him in the direction of your dorm. “Come on, let’s go find you something of mine. I’ll jazz mine up a little bit so you can keep the cape on—we’ll just be each other, but vampires. Does that sound good?”

Enzo smiled, nodding as you led the way.

—

A/N - Hi! Happy Halloween! I know it’s late, but I made it before midnight! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. I’ve got a few more requests to fill, and I’ll have those up soon. See you soon :)

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Rockets of Love - Chapter Three

Pairing:  Bucky x Plus Size Reader

Chapter Summary:   You go speed-dating but Bucky has your attention just as much as you have his.

A/N:  Thanks so much for reading, I hope you're liking where this is going. The next chapter or two is set on the same night so there's more speed-dating and more Bucky wanting your attention.

If you like any of this series so far please give it a like and a reblog.  If you’re loving it please let me know what you think or feel about it - I will always reply to comments and reblog comments where Tumblr doesn’t lose them in the ether.

Date night attire- Blue peplum jump suit. Image source: Pinterest - but that’s as far as I remember where it came from.

Emails, messages, and social media conversations are in bold block quotes.

Acronym/terms glossary for this chapter: PUG - Pick-up Game KDR - Kill/Death Ratio

Warnings:   Alcohol consumption and drunkenness, slight implied fat shaming, light emotional discomfort, Buvky is a flirt.

***18 + content - this series is written for adults.  Minors do not read or interact please ***

Rockets of Lover Masterlist

Nine to fives in the Tech One role basically meant you were doing Angela’s job while she skived off and fluffed her future career with the general manager.  You didn’t care, you had all the responsibility you wanted with none of the management commitment, and the busier Angela was with her own business the less she was all up in yours.

Before you knew it, the time was 4.30.  You’d been thinking about your plans for the evening whilst dealing with menial tasks that shouldn’t have even been escalated to you.  Then again, they were easy so you didn’t mind all that much.

You mentally planned your time between leaving work and meeting Becca and Den.  Pick up a sandwich and then a tube and train ride home since you only brought your car to work for night shifts.  Hopefully Baker Street tube station wouldn’t be heaving otherwise you’d be window-licking all the way to Vauxhall station.  Shower, make-up, get dressed (the blue jumpsuit wasn’t a bad idea), and do your hair before getting a taxi at 6.45 to meet the girls at Rococo - you liked that bar, they served good cocktails.

At 4.55 you finished your last call and set yourself as unavailable.  There would be no chance you’d get ready in time if a new case came up and you had to stay to finish it.  You submitted your final report and put your headset on charge for the morning.  With an enthusiastic wave to Angela, you exited the tech suite in a flurry of fumbled coat and bag at bang-on 5pm.

Arriving home twenty minutes later than you’d hoped, feeling harassed and thoroughly peeved at the inconvenience that was the rest of humanity, you threw your stuff on the sofa and rushed upstairs.  You’d eaten your sandwich on the tube ride home, ignoring the snarky looks you got from the people stood near you.

Yeah?  So what?  Big girls still need to eat, y’know.

Your shower was rushed and your make-up wasn’t cooperating.  Originally you’d wanted a nude look that made you look natural but pretty.  As it turned out, fate had other ideas and after some drama with your blending, you decided to darken your eyeshadow and add some false lashes to sell the whole look.

Attire:  Sapphire blue jump suit with an asymmetric peplum and tapered ankles.  It had a V-neck tank style top that accented your breasts but wasn’t overly revealing.  You liked the peplum because it took away the problem of possible camel toe, and because it hid your tummy and a bit of your thighs too.

Hair:  No problem.  Dried and loosely curled, left down.  Perfect.

Shoes:  Standard nude pumps with a heel high enough to be cute but low enough to be comfortable.  Matching bag.

Taxi:  Arriving now.

You breathed a sigh of relief as you slipped into the back of the taxi and headed to Rococo – on time.

“You look so pretty.”  Denise said, fake kissing your cheek.  The greeting kisses weren’t fake because the greetings were fake but because getting your lipstick on your friend’s cheek wasn’t the done thing, at least not until much later on in the night.

“Thanks.”  You grimaced.  Never truly able to accept a compliment.  “You too, Den.  I love your new make-up look.”

“Thanks honey!  I love your hair.”  She twisted some of you hair around her finger wistfully.  “I wish my hair was as nice as yours.”

You groaned internally, not wanting to get started on round after round of compliments.  Yes, you were insecure but the constant fishing compliments drew your thoughts to everything you didn’t like about yourself.

Just stop already!

You smiled uncomfortably and patted Den’s arm awkwardly, watching Becca come from the bar with drinks.

“Babe!  You look great!”  Becca slipped a glass of complimentary wine into your hand before hugging your fiercely.  “I hope you pre-gamed.”  She muttered in your ear - a sign that tonight might not be as easy as you hoped.

“If you can call ham salad on rye pre-gaming.”  You chuckled, sipping at the wine.  It was cheap but passable – it would get you pissed.  “How’s it looking?”

“So, I saw this one guy who looks pretty fit but he’s not really my type.”

“You mean he’s shorter than you?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”  She sipped her wine with a shit-eating grin.

“Give him a chance when you get to talk to him, he might surprise you.”

“Oh, he’s not here for the speed dating.”  She looked sheepishly around.  “He’s behind the bar.”

“Jesus, woman!”  You laughed.  “Well here’s to you getting laid, real fucking soon.”  You toasted and clinked glasses.

The three of you took pictures; selfies and a couple of full length pictures in pair.  You hated pictures of yourself but had to admit that you did look pretty nice when you got dressed up, and your curves looked a bit sexy instead of frumpy and lumpy.

After two glasses of wine you were starting to warm up.  The organisers had given you all sticky labels with your names on them and a ticket with a table number on it, a date scorecard and a pen.  Becca was table two, you were table three and Denise was table four.

There were twenty tables in total with a woman sat at each.  Dates would last up to five minutes, with a minute between so daters could fill out their scorecards and the men move to the next table, and some bathroom time every few dates.

You were nervous.  So nervous that you could quite easily freak the fuck out and just leave.

You’re not here for you, you’re here for Becca.  You reminded yourself.

Thankfully there were waiters who would come around a top up the drinks as the dates progressed.  Becca was right, you should have had a few pre-drinks.

You looked up to see a ginger-haired, round-faced man stood in front of your table.  He smiled at you, his eyes a sparkling blue that made you think maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Ginger-haired Mike turned out to be a mummy’s boy.  Living at home, never moved out, not once.  In between jobs.  Bird watcher.  Tea-total.  Vegetarian despite the leather shoes.  And thoroughly boring.

“It was nice to meet you, Mike.”  You shook his hand weakly and watched him shuffle away before putting a cross next to his name.

Your next date was a guy dressed like he was attending a job interview.  Who knew, maybe he was.  Perhaps he was after a domineering woman to run his life.

You were so right about that.  Right off the cuff, he admitted what he wanted.

“I’m looking for a strong woman who isn’t afraid to take charge of things, in life and in the bedroom.”  Dan said.  His intense stare, held over-long, was a little creepy. No.  A lot creepy.  “I like bossy.  Are you bossy?”

You drained your glass as a way to stifle the nervous laugh you almost snorted out.  Looking past him, you made eye contact with one of the waiters and tapped your glass with a soft smile, mouthing thanks when she’d topped you up.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Dan, I just don’t think that’s for me.”  You watched him nod, his lips thinning down into a thoughtful line.  Maybe here isn’t the place to look for what you need, it seems like you’re after something very specific.  And you don’t want to pay for it.  You added mentally.

You felt like an agony aunt, hearing the relationship woes of the general public.

Dan thanked you for your time and left at the end of your ‘date’.  He moved to Denise’s table and you couldn’t help but smirk at how that one was going to go.  He was a general bottom and she was a sexual bottom.  You chuckled dryly putting a cross next to his name as well.

Your next date wouldn’t talk to you.  Liam sat messaging on his phone after stating: ‘I don’t date big girls, sorry.’

Well, if that wasn’t a little upsetting you didn’t know what was.  You had to respect him for being upfront about it, and he didn’t insult you or anything but the way he just blanked you after stating his preference really knocked your confidence.

You supposed that since Liam was ignoring you there was no harm in giving your phone some attention too.  You decided to reply to Bucky.

Buckinator!

FYI, future Mr MoonDragon would have to have an impressively huge set of balls on him to handle me.  And I don’t know about getting lucky… I might have to clear out some cobwebs first lol.  Though by the looks of it, that’s not going to happen tonight.  No sir!

Just had this one guy completely blow me off.  He’s sat ignoring me on his phone right now.  What can I say?  My personality is just that magnetic lol.

Yeah, guys say that all the time about Russian accents… You’re just one of the many suckers drawn in by a sweet and attractive Russian doll.  I have to say I’m a little disappointed in you, here I was thinking you were different.

At this rate I’ll be able to play in this PUG you were talking about though I dunno how good I’ll be… there has been copious amounts of wine consumed already 😛

MD XX

The wine made you brazen and you flirted a little more in your email to Bucky than normal.  You hoped he didn’t get scared off because you were really starting to like him.

Your phone vibrated in your lap twice during your next date – a guy who was so interested in talking about himself that he never got to hear anything about you, which suited you fine.  There was a kind of confidence and cocksurety that could be attractive, and then there was arrogance and a downright self-centred kind of behaviour that was repulsive – this was that kind.

After that date, everyone was allowed a bathroom/smoke break, and you had been drinking the wine pretty fast so were ready to break the seal.

Sitting on the loo you checked your phone.  Two emails from Bucky.

WTF?  What an asshole!  What did he say?  He obviously needs a lobotomy or some sort or intervention if he doesn’t find your company riveting.

So, big balls are a requirement?  Just how big do they have to be?  Asking for a friend lol.  Cobwebs?  Jesus woman, you’re presenting quite an image.  Surely it hasn’t been THAT long?  Is assistance needed in the clearing of said cobwebs?  Also asking for a friend 😉.

Oh, gimme a break!  I never said I liked a Russian accent that much.  I mean, it’s cool and all but I actually really like yours.  Your voice rocks so hard I could listen to you talk all fucking day.  Pretty sure I’ve been the perfect gentleman about it though.

Listen, wine is good, don’t worry about drunken PUG playing.  I’m already on the whiskey.  Just come play with me, my KDR is improving now that you’re not fragging me left and right.  Can’t possibly have THAT now can we?

I’m off to pour another drink!  CHEERS!

Bucky XXX

Oh shit!  Give the guy an inch in terms of flirtation and he runs a mile with it.  Blushing, you read his second email.

Sorry if I said anything embarrassing or took things too far.  You can ignore drunk Bucky.  He talks so much shit.

Buck X

What if you didn’t want to ignore it?  What if the things he’d said had lit a fire in your chest that was starting to melt that famously commented upon (by him) frozen and shrivelled lump of coal you had for a heart?

Buckinator!

I’m hiding in the bathroom right now lol.  Why can’t all guys be like you.  You’re really sweet, you know?  Don’t ever apologise for being you.

But yes, you do talk so much shit, it’s part of the reason I like you 😉  Don’t go getting angry at poor Liam, if they’re all like him then I get to talk to you more.

I’ll see what I can do about playing later.  I’m in work tomorrow though and my boss complains if I look tired when I rock up at the office.  No promises.

MD XX

The next few dates went alright.  Conversation flowed and you actually talked a bit about yourself.

There was one guy, Rick, who you actually checked the yes box for a second date.  He’d been charming and lovely but also witty.  He’d made you feel appreciated just in the five minutes you got to spend with him, complimenting your smile and the sparkle in your eyes.  Laughing when you played it off as the glassy stare of a wine-soaked drunkard.

Another bathroom break and you had three emails.  One from Nat, and another two from Bucky.  What the hell was he doing?  Maybe the whiskey was loosening him up like the wine had done for you.

Hi MD,

Just messaging to find out if you’re in on this PUG later or if you’re just playing hard-to-get with Barnes 😉  I figured maybe you’d come play with me even if you wanted to avoid the train wreck that is Bucky on the bottle.

Hit me up,

Nat XXX

You quickly replied, choosing not to say anything about her comment on your playing hard to get with Bucky.

Nat,

I’ll try to play.  It depends on what time I get home from this date thing, and I’m working tomorrow too.  I actually think I want to see drunk Bucky.  He sounds like so much fun.

TTYL8R

XXX

You only had a couple of minutes before you had to be back at your table, and with half of the dates left to go there was still a lot of people to get through.  You quickly tried to read Bucky’s emails.

Umm…

Who are you and what have you done with my MoonDragon?  Calling me sweet?  Is the frozen tundra of your heart finally melting?  Have I finally penetrated your permafrost armour?  Don’t stop though, I like this contrasting side of you.

Babe, I’d be more than happy to have them all be like that guy if It means I get more time with you but they’re the reason you’re there, looking for love.  You deserve better than a bunch of guys that ignore you so I hope you find someone who’ll treat you right.

And if you don’t, I’ll be waiting.

Bucky XXX

Wait what?  Your chest tightened with mild panic and excitement.  You rushed to read his second email.

I meant I’ll be waiting to play with you tonight if you get home in time and hopefully don’t go for that booty call.

God I’m such an ass.  Sorry.

With your face fully flushed and a light bubbling of excitement still in your chest you made your way back to your table.

“You’re looking radiant.”  Becca leaned over to you.  “Find anyone you like yet?”

Yeah, but not here.  You thought bitterly.  Your blush was a combination of wine and Bucky flirting shamelessly with you.

“I checked one off for a second date.”  You said with a sigh.  “What about you?”

“Meh, two.”  She said and you were hard pushed to imagine which of the guys you’d seen that had piqued her interest.  You wondered if Liam was one of them.  Just wait until you told her about him later.

“Wonder how many Den checked.”

“Four.”  Becca laughed.  “She’s keeping her options open.”

Rockets of Love Masterlist

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

For My Eyes Only - Tom Felton x Reader (Requested)

Requested by @miaorient11​ Can you do when the reader bought a tight dress and wants to wear it in public but Tom doesn't want her to?

A/N: This took longer than I wanted it to but I’ve been VERY busy! Also, I felt like this one was perfect as a drabble. Loosely inspired by For Your Eyes Only by One Direction. I still hope everyone enjoys! Xxx

Requests are ALWAYS open! Masterlist of all Masterlists| Harry Potter Masterlist

Warnings: FLUFF! Hint of sex but no details! Always keeping it clean, friends ;) 

Word Count: 989

Dating someone like Tom wasn’t an easy task. No matter where you two went, someone wanted to take his picture and you’ve seen a lot of his fans, mostly girls, who all seem to be more beautiful than you. Although Tom always told you the opposite, you couldn’t help the demons of your self-doubt from speaking louder than he did. You tried to put that on the back burner in your mind but nearly every day they would scream louder and louder when you’d least expect it. 

Finally, though, you had an epiphany and decided you were more than you were giving yourself credit for. In a few short weeks, the next event with Tom that required a red carpet appearance grew closer and closer. So you decided you needed to change something. You grab your closest friends, whose opinions you valued, and head to the nearest shopping mall.

“Guys I don’t know what to do! I feel so insecure and 

inadequate next to Tom!”

“Okay, Y/N that clearly isn’t true because he chose to date you as much as you chose to date him.” Your friends encourage you.

“You guys are right but maybe a bit of a makeover wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Your friends pick out several different dress options and since this next event, Tom was set to appear at a small Harry Potter reunion for the premiere of the newest Fantastic Beasts film.

Perfect cameras, some of Tom’s old co-stars, the best time to show off my new look. You think to yourself.

Finally deciding on a short black sequin dress that stopped at the knees, it was classy but it hugged your curves perfectly and already turned the heads of some of the guys in the store.

“Y/N, that’s the one. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you all night.”

“I know right?” You say, grinning from ear to ear at how you look.

The night of the event rolls around and you place the dress over your head and smile as it falls into place. Then you do your hair, braiding it and wrapping it in a crown around your head. And with just the right amount of makeup, you slide on low-heeled shoes and grab a clutch, putting just the essentials inside. A loud honking comes from outside your window; it was time.

Getting into the car, you're surprised Tom isn’t inside waiting for you but you think it’s even better to surprise him in front of all those people. The car stops beside a gate and you can see the side of the red carpet. People began walking down and you grinned to yourself. Not seeing anyone until you see Tom posing with his hands in his pockets, you walk up next to him and smile, as the cameras turned to you and were flashing as they captured your essence. Tom looked to his right to see why the attention suddenly left him and looked to you. At first, he wasn’t able to speak, eyes roaming over you from head to toe but he somehow found the courage to speak.

“Wow, y/n, you look…..” he wasn’t able to find the right word for how he was feeling as he looked at you but he did know you were beautiful.

“Why thank you, Tom. Like the dress? It’s new.” you say, doing a small twirl and the lights of the cameras only escalated. 

His pupils grew to just the slightest size taking in the sight before him but he tried to downplay it. He clears his throat before he speaks. 

“Yes, I like the dress. As I said, you, you look beautiful,” he says, a small smile on his face. “So are you ready?” He says, motioning to the red carpet before you. You nod, smiling as Tom wrapped an arm around your waist as the lights of the cameras rapidly flashed. 

As photographers snapped pictures and fans cheered, the attention seemed to be on you as the lights shine on you, the sequence bouncing the light back to the crowd. The more and more comments were directed at your dress, the more you could feel Tom tense up beside you. Walking away from all the attention, you look at Tom, with a look of concern on your face. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, pulling him away from any eavesdroppers. 

“N-nothing, everything is fine,” you could tell he was lying. 

“Tom, I know you better than that, I know when you’re lying.” You entice, trying to get what was really bothering him. 

“Your dress…” He trailed off. 

“What about it?” You ask.

“Well I just think something like this is, something that should be kept a bit more private,” he admits. 

You grin mischievously at him, knowing what he meant. 

“Oh I see, you don’t like me flaunting this kind of stuff, huh?” You joke.

“No, it’s not that per se, I just think, it should be for my eyes only. I mean did you hear some of the comments some people were saying?” He exclaims, becoming wound up over the situation.

“I did not, what were they saying?” You continue with his little game, knowing what he was saying. 

“I can’t…repeat what they said but believe me darlin’ it wasn’t nice,” he says. 

“Oh, okay. Well, then what do you want to do about it?” You ask. 

“The blue of his eyes changed just the slightest bit darker and you had to brace yourself for what’s to come. 

He took your hand, held it tightly in his, and ushered you away from the event. You could feel your heart racing because you know what he’s like when he gets jealous and was he ever! Calling for his chauffeur, they pull up, and he helps you inside. 

“Driver, step on it,” he says and you could feel the car lurch forward as the feeling of his lips softly pressed against yours. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Laisse tomber les filles 9

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon, handjob

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: You guys think Lee can’t get any worse. He can always get worse.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You were frazzled and distant as you sat beside Lee. You only returned to the present when your hand dropped and was covered by one larger and warmer. Your palm pressed against something firm and you glanced over startled. 

Lee pressed his lips to your crown and kept your head down as he moved your hand over his crotch. You tried to pull away and he caught your wrist. He hummed and tutted into your scalp.

“It’s alright, honey pie,” he purred, “don’t you remember how I made you feel, hm? Don’t you wanna do the same for me?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” your murmured as his hand slipped over yours again and he made your grip the thick outline bulging through his pants, “please…”

“Shhh, honey, you just gotta do what I say,” he cooed, “ain’t nothing wrong, huh? We’re together now, you got your pretty ring.”

I didn’t ask for the ring, you thought, but he gave generously and all you could do was keep doubting him. How ungrateful you must seem. 

Your hand shook but you let the tension drain from your arm. His other arm snaked around your shoulders squeezed you closer and he tickled the back of your hand as he withdrew his own and twiddled his fingers against his thigh.

“Go on, you can undo me,” he coaxed, “take it slow, honey pie, ain’t no rush.” 

You hesitated and your hand trembled. You felt detached from your own body as you focused on his words. If you did what he said he’d be happy and you might even like it too. It was always weird the first time, right?

You struggled to unhook his belt and he helped with his free hand. Once you unbuckled the leather you pinched the button of his fly until it came loose and hesitated on the tag of his zipper.

“Oh, honey, you’re almost there,” he breathed into your hair, “mmm, you got me so hard for you already.”

You gulped and pushed down his zipper with a single finger. You stared at the shape of him through his briefs and your hand hovered above tenuously. He pulled his fly wide and lifted his pelvis just slightly. He hooked a thumb in the elastic of his underwear and tugged them down his hips.

“Grab onto me, girl,” he demanded as he sat down heavily and pushed the elastic down below his dick. Your eyes rounded at the sight of him throbbing and twitching, “don’t keep me waitin’ here.”

You lowered your hand and wrapped your fingers around him lightly. He shuddered and his arm slipped down and he gripped your side. His other hand balled around the corner of his pants.

“Tighter,” he demanded and you obeyed, “move your hand, honey, just up and down.”

You pushed your dry tongue to the roof of your mouth and stared at your hand. The scene was surreal to you, so odd and new. The mystery of intimacy unravelling in an act so lewd. You stroked him and the curve of your thumb caught his tip as your slid back down and he hissed.

“Oh, yes, honey, keep goin’,” he pushed his cheek against your head as his body tensed and he hugged you closer to him.

You kept your hand in motion, too afraid and dazed to stop. His groans filled your ears as his hot breath washed over you. He turned his head and pressed his lips to your hair.

“Faster,” he urged, “goddamn, honey, faster.”

You did as he said and his hand crept away from his thigh. He reached over blindly and you heard a subtle pop. He trembled as his pants grew frantic. He brought around his empty milkshake cup, the lid on an angle as it hung from the straw.

“Almost there,” he dug his nails into your side as his fingers poked through the loose crochet hoops of your sweater, “try to get it in the cup, honey, we don’t want a--”

He grunted as he quickly moved the rim below his tip and tilted the cup. He quaked as you kept on and watched him spill into the paper. Your mouth hung open at the sight as your arm moved out of habit. He swore and lifted his head and sighed.

“Enough, hon,” the cup shook in his hand, “you can… stop… ah.”

He shivered as you slowed and drew your hand away. He took a deep breath and rescinded his arm from around your back and fixed the lid on the cup. He flicked the straw with his finger and smirked then peeked over at you. 

You batted your lashes dumbly and he snickered and put the cup aside. He looked down at himself and cupped his sack as he covered his shaft with his hand. He nodded and closed his eyes as he steadied his breath.

“That was good, honey pie,” he rolled his shoulder then lifted his ass to fix his underwear, “you sure you never touched a man before? Sure feels like you have.”

“N-- no,” you rubbed your warm palm with your thumb and wiped it thoughtlessly on your dress, “I never…”

“How’s that milkshake?” he asked with a chuckle and tapped his own cup, “sweeter than mine I’m sure.”

“I…” you folded your hands and bent your arms against your chest, “can you take me home now?”

“Home?” he echoed, “why’s that?”

“I-- You know it’s all new to me,” you murmured.

“We ain’t gotta do nothing else, honey pie,” he placed his hand on your thigh, “I just like being with you… god, that was so good, you know that? You make me feel so nice.”

“Mmhmm,” you twined your fingers together and bent them, resting your chin on your knuckles.

“Why don’t we go for a ride?” he asked, “it will help you relax.”

“Sure,” you squeaked, “that’s alright.”

📚

The more you thought about it, the uneasier you felt and all you could do was think about it. The man next to you, his arm around your shoulder as he drove, wouldn’t let you forget him. You found yourself twisting the ring on your finger as your nerves ran wild. 

Your mind raced as the evening played back in your head and you swore you could still feel him in your hand. You resisted a shudder as he steered lazily and as you saw the welcome sign at the north end of campus, you let out a slow breath. You just wanted to go and hide and not think. 

You wanted those few hours when you didn’t have to fear this man’s presence. Were you supposed to feel this way about your “boyfriend”? That’s what he was, or what he thought he was.

He drove down Greek row, some lights still on in the whitewashed houses, and onto your street. He pulled up in front of your residence and kissed the top of your head. He shifted the car into park with his free hand and ran his knuckles along your chin as he made you face him. He pushed your chin up and kissed your lips.

“You tired, honey pie?” he asked as he rubbed his nose against yours, “I saw you yawning. I shouldn’t keep ya out so late, huh?”

“It was a long day,” you picked at your sweater as you stiffened against him.

“One more thing,” he leaned against you, nearly flattening you to the seat as he reached for the glove compartment. It fell open and he grasped around inside before he pulled you back up, “here.”

You stared down at the book and took it reluctantly. The lewd image of a naked woman pouted back at you and you tried not to squirm. You’d never seen anything so explicit on the front of a book. Yours were all hardcover and mostly blank. You shifted and bit your lip nervously.

“They’re stories, since you like readin’,” he shrugged as he kept his arm lightly on your shoulders, “they’ll help ya learn.”

“I can’t… I can’t read this,” you whispered.

“Don’t ya wanna know how to keep me happy? Ain’t nothing wrong with doing all that with your man,” he said, “you know, then it won’t be so scary.”

“I just… I don��t know,” you bent the book, “I wouldn’t… it’s just not for me.”

“Do it for me, honey,” he adjusted the strap of your dress, “the next time we see each other, I want you to take the lead.”

“What…” you breathed.

“So you needa study,” he purred, “you can make a man happy, you did tonight. You just need practice is all. It ain’t so hard, is it?”

You kept your head down and said nothing. You nodded and reached for your purse to hide the book.

“Don’t mean I won’t do nothing for you, honey pie,” his hand fell to your thigh, “I got lots in mind.”

“I’ll try to… find the time,” you gulped, “good night, sir.”

“Night, honey pie,” he caught you before you could sidle away and kissed you again, this time moaning into your mouth before he let go, “you get lots of sleep. You got your book club Friday?”

“Yes,” you eked out as you wiggled away.

“Then I’ll be round then,” he said as he squeezed your hand one last time, “now don’t get carried away with that book… no touching yourself, that’s a sin.”

“Mhmm,” you uttered and stumbled out of the car, closing the door a bit too hard behind you. 

You didn’t look back as you hurried up the steps but you knew he was watching you. You could feel his eyes on you in the dim and it was suffocating.

[chrisevansjellybeans]

Undercover- Mob! Steve Rogers Part 2

Okay here is the highly requested part two to my Mob! Steve post! I had some technical difficulties posting it but hopefully you guys see it in the tags now :)

Warnings: swearing and smut

Word count: 2.8k

“When I said go undercover, I didn’t mean under his covers, Agent.” Director Fury slammed his hand down on his desk. It had now officially been twenty-four hours since your encounter with the mob boss and you had been waiting anxiously all day to talk with Nick Fury. The rumor around the office all day was that he wasn’t too pleased with how things went down.

“I did what I had to do, sir.” You stated boldly.

Fury scoffed but didn’t respond.

He was quiet for a moment, his eye scanning over the piece of paper in his hand. You fidgeted uncomfortably as your legs were still sore from your romp last night and you tried to hold it together as Fury gave you a weird look.

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You muttered a thank you as you took a seat.

“Listen, this is all good and fine but I want more. This,” He waved the note in his hand. “Is just a drug felony. I want this bastard put away for life.”

“But what about Stark?”

“A slippery politician, nothing more. I want insight on just more than this. I want it all.”

You sat back in the chair. You understood where he was coming from, but he was also acting like you hadn’t just uncovered a huge piece of information.

“Sir-”

“Which is why you’re going to continue...seeing Rogers. Your undercover assignment has just been extended until further notice.”

“But, sir!” You stood up in protest.

“But nothing, Agent. You’ve made your bed and you’ve already lied in it. Now do it again.” He snapped.

“Are you pimping me out, sir?”

“You did that yourself, Y/N.” Fury snarked. “Anyway, as we speak I have other agents creating an entire new identity for you on the internet so when Roger’s does eventually look you up he’ll find everything we want him to find.”

You felt yourself sinking back down into the chair. He was being completely serious. You suddenly felt very hot as you processed all the information coming at you.

“And what exactly is it going to say?”

“That you are Y/N Monroe. You are the same age as you are now and a barista at the coffee shop just below your apartment. You went to the University of Minnesota and graduated with a business degree, but currently can’t find any jobs. Pity. Your parents died when you were young and you have no siblings-no need to wrap anyone else up in this. We’ve made an Instagram account since that seems to be the most popular app among adults your age. I pushed for no socials but apparently it’s weirder if you don’t have one.”

“Okay...but I don’t have a coffee shop below my apartment.”

“You do now. Your stuff is being moved into a safe house apartment on the other side of town. That’s where you’ll be staying for now. Don’t worry, I have Parker holed up in the apartment two doors down.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to try to calm down. There was nothing else you could do. Fury was right, you had made your bed. You reached over and grabbed the file that Fury had pushed towards the front of the desk. Your new life all put together in a Manila folder.

Damn you, Ma and your slutty advice.

“You can go now.” Fury waved you away, now totally focused on whatever file he had in front of him. You hesitated, wanting to say something but nothing came so you left.

“Y/N!” Peter ran up beside you as you stormed down the hallway. “Heard we’re gonna be neighbors.”

You smiled at how excited he was. “It’s only temporary, Parker. Don’t wet your pants.”

Peter blushed and gently shoved you to the side as you both continued walking. “I know that. But doesn’t mean it won’t be fun. We could have movie nights or something.”

“I suppose we could find some time.” You nudged him back.

“Oh here, before I forget.” Peter shoved a brand new iPhone into your hand. “Fury had me add some tweaks to the geo location so it’s more precise than what Apple has. My burner number is already programmed in there too.”

You studied the burner phone, impressed that they didn’t just give you another shitty tracfone like you were used to.

“Thanks, kid.”

“I’m not that much younger than you.” Peter grumbled as the two of you finally made it to the parking structure.

You smirked over your shoulder as you walked up to your Jeep Wrangler. “Young enough. ‘Night, kid!”

Peter flipped you off but was smiling the whole time as you drove off.

You punched in your new address in the GPS and followed along as it brought you to the older part of town. You had always loved this part of the city but never thought to move out here. Even though it wasn’t the new upcoming neighborhood, the rent prices had been driven up by the young kids moving in who just “adored the old time aesthetic” and the lofted buildings.

Your building was one of those you noted as you parked your car outside of your new address. The old brick building was tall, maybe six stories and had fire escapes littered across the front of it. The front door was a rusted green that you had to yank to budge to get open.

Extra security, I suppose. You laughed to yourself.

Your apartment was on the third floor and right off the freight elevator. You weren’t expecting much when you opened the door but you made a noise of pleasant surprise when you did.

The inside was warm and inviting. A plush gray sofa that resembled a cloud was center in your living room that you saw right away from the small entry hallway. As you stepped in further you saw a decent size tv mounted against the wall and two bookshelves on either side of it, filled with books and records that went along with the record player that was right underneath the television. To the left the living room was the kitchen. Nothing big, which you didn’t mind-you weren’t the best cook in the world. There was a small bar-like counter that had two barstools perched underneath. Down the small hallway you found your bedroom. A king sized bed covered in an off white comforter set with matching sheets. Small potted plants hung from the corner near the window and an array of makeup and perfumes littered the top of the wooden dresser.

Tentatively you opened the dressers to find a whole new wardrobe waiting for you. There were basics: such as t-shirts, jeans, bras and panties but there was also a whole drawer dedicated to skimpy lingerie that you knew was expensive. The walk-in closet was filled with dresses, some formal and some you wouldn’t let your grandmother even see hanging off the rack.

“Well done, Fury.” You mumbled to yourself as your fingers ran down the silk fabric of a long evening gown.

You were settling on to your couch, sweats on and a glass of wine in your hand when you heard a knock on the door. Slowly you got up, grabbing your gun from the plant next to the door. You looked through the peephole and let out a curse when you saw none other than Steve Rogers standing outside your apartment.

You shoved the gun back into the plant and ran your fingers through your hair before opening the door, but leaving the chain attached.

“Mr. Rogers, how can I help you?” Your eyes twinkled as the man in front of you rested his arm on the top of the door frame and leaned close to the opening you had created.

“You said I would see you soon, princess. Looks like soon is now.” The nickname again caused your stomach to flutter.

“I was just getting ready for bed. You’ll have to come by another time.” You feigned a yawn. Steve’s eyes blared as he stood up straight.

“It’s rude to keep your guests waiting, Miss Monroe.” Your heart jumped at the use of your alias. Thank god your team worked fast.

“And it’s rude to show up to people’s apartments unannounced, Mr. Rogers.”

“Open the door, sweetheart.” He hissed, but his eyes held anything but anger. He was intrigued. He never found a woman before who wasn’t afraid to dish back his sass. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“Say please.” You teased through the opening.

“Please.” He said through gritted teeth.

Chuckling you closed the door gently and undid the chain. Before you could reopen it though, Steve pushed his way through scooping you up in his arms as he did. You naturally wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms held tight around him as you squealed against his neck.

He walked you back into the living room and plopped down on the couch, holding you so you were still straddling him.

You pulled away but kept your arms hanging loosely around him. He smirked up at you as his fingers toyed with the hem of the tank top you had on. His eyes fell to the wine that was only half drank on your coffee table.

“Heading off to bed soon, huh?”

“My bedtime snack.”

There was a part of your brain that recognized him for who he was: evil. But another part of your brain saw him as the man who made your body feel things that it had never felt before and that had your heart racing like a schoolgirl with a crush. The part that recognized that he was so easy to talk and joke with. The great sex wasn’t a bummer either.

His smirk was replaced by a genuine smile as he pulled you down and gave you a kiss that had your toes curling. He moaned into your mouth as you slowly ground your hips against his, your fingers tugging at the hair by his neck. His tongue massaged yours, letting you know exactly who was in charge at this moment. His hands ran underneath your tank top, fingers tracing up your spine before reaching the front and giving your nipples a slight twist.

He moved his mouth from yours and peppered kisses along the side of your neck as he lifted the tank top over your head. He threw it to the side as his mouth attached to your protruding bud while his fingers pinched and toyed with the other one. Skillfully, and with his mouth still attached to you, Steve flipped you over so your back was on the couch and he was on top of you. He lifted his head, his blue eyes clouded with lust as he started kissing down from the center of your chest, down your stomach and down your legs as he pulled your sweats along with him.

He hummed as he spread your bottom lips apart with his fingers, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. You wiggled your hips against his face but he responded with a smack against your core.

“Honey, you gotta learn who’s in charge here and who’s-“ he kissed your clit ever so slightly, teasing you. “Just a little cock slut.”

His tongue circled over your bundle of nerves while fingers toyed with your slick. Gently he pushed two fingers into your pussy. Your eyes fluttered closed as his steady rhythm and flick of his tongue brought your orgasm to the forefront.

“Shit, Steve…” you whimpered, gripping his hair and pulling him close. “Oh fuck, I’m close!”

“Let me taste you, princess.” Steve growled. You nearly lost it at the sigh of your juices dripping from his chin. “Give it to me like the good girl you are.”

“Oh god!” You called out as he hit that spongy spot that caused your thighs to tighten around his head. Your body spasmed as it rode out your orgasm. Your chest heaving and your legs shaking as he slowly pulled his fingers from you. A moan was caught in your throat as you watched him put his soaked fingers between his lips, a look of pure satisfaction covering his perfect face.

Steve leaned his body over yours but careful not to let his full weight fall on you. He ran his nose up the side of your neck, along your cheek before letting it rub against your own. You grabbed his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. There was something so erotic about tasting yourself when your tongues met.

“Show me your bedroom?” Steve pulled away. You gave a weak nod. Steve stood up and hoisted you up, your legs weak beneath you.

“Poor baby.” He cooed in your ear. “Only one orgasm down and already can’t walk. I can’t imagine how you’ll be when I’m done with you.”

With that he lifted you and walked down your short hallway to the bedroom. In your hazy, post orgasm mind you hoped the mattress was comfy. You hadn’t even tested out beforehand.

Steve threw you on the bed and you sighed as you fell into the cloud. You leaned back on your elbows and watched as Steve unbuttoned the new shirt and trousers he had on. You stifled your laughter thinking about the wine stained ones back at his house.

“Something amusing to you, sweetheart?” He grabbed your ankle and pulled you towards the end of the bed. He lifted your foot up, setting it over his shoulder as he kissed the inside of your calf.

“No, sir.” You teased.

“You’re a bad liar.” He nipped at your knee.

Not as bad as you might think.

Steve made you come at least four more times that night. Your body completely spent when he finally rolled over and laid next to you, yours and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

You rolled over and threw your leg and arm over his body, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. Steve’s fingers toyed with yours as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Spend the night?” You asked into the darkness. It was nearly three in the morning and your eyes were slowly closing no matter how much you willed them to stay open.

“I have some business things that I have to take care of early in the morning.” He answered, his fingers running up and down your arm.

“Oh, okay.” You said sadly. Steve’s chest rumbled with light laughter as he brought your hand that was in his up to his lips and gave it a kiss. You were soon realizing that he was actually a very affectionate person.

“But I want you to come back to the house tomorrow. I’ll send one of my guys for you in the afternoon.”

“Really?” You sat up. Steve blindly reached for your nightstand and turned on the lamp that was on it. His hair was tousled from the numerous times you had run your fingers through it and his lips were red and swollen. He looked like the epitome of sex and it was fucking hot.

“Yes, really.” He chuckled. He grabbed your phone that was on the nightstand and held it out for you to unlock. You did quickly and he took it back and started typing. “I don’t give out my personal number to a lot of people.”

“So I’m special.” You wiggled in your spot, a grin covering your face.

“Yes. You are.” Steve looked back at you and you were taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. He handed your phone back to you and you laughed at the name he had for his contact: Steve Rogers and an eggplant emoji.

“You’re a child.” You giggled.

Steve rolled his eyes and got out of bed and you took the time to appreciate his bum as he walked over to get his pants.

You gathered the soft sheets in your hand and brought them up to your chest. Although you weren’t sure what you were trying to hide, he had seen it all.

Once he was dressed and you slipped on a robe that you found hanging behind the door, you walked him out. He stood in your doorframe, his large figure making the space seem very small. He smiled as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your head and leaned down and gave you a kiss.

“Make sure to lock all the doors behind me. And text me when you wake up tomorrow.” He demanded softly.

“Mmmkay, I will.” You said hazily.

“Go get some sleep, princess.” He laughed as he pushed away from the door and walked to the elevator. You watched as he got in and gave you a quick wave before whipping out his phone to make a call.

Once he was out of sight you closed the door softly, making sure to bolt everything before heading back to your bed. You were too tired to even clean up before you passed out.

[insomniamamma]

Safe: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: What can I say? I'm hormonal and all my shit hurts and if I cannot get snuggles IRL then I will write something super soft and self-indulgent to make myself feel better. Part of the Prickle AU. Set sometime after Sacellum.

Warnings: Oh no! There's only one bed. Soft!Ezra. Language. Cee's best friend on The Pug is non-binary and also named after my little boy's favorite stuffy. Maybe the slightest bit of angst. But mostly super soft.

         "You did this on purpose."         "Right hand to Kevva, I did not. I asked for double occupancy and they must have misunderstood and--"         "You don't have a right hand,"         "Let's go back to the reception desk," says Ezra, "We may be able to negotiate more appropriate accommodations."         "Errgh," you groan. Reception had been a nightmare, three freighters worth of traffic trying to secure berths all at once. It was a lot of people. Too many for your liking. Cee was staying with Kit and their family. Kit and Cee had practically tackled each other right there on the dock, everyone else forgotten, walked away arm in arm.         "We shove off in three cycles," Ezra hollered at her retreating back, and she flapped a dismissive hand at him. You had to smile. For three cycles Cee gets to be a normal teenager hanging out with her best friend without worrying about points and pulls and overhead costs and fuel margins.         "I don't wanna go back down there," you say, "Too many people. I think twice the population of Falnost was waiting in that fucking line." You brush past him and into the suite. The ceilings are low and slightly curved and it feels strange to be under this much grav. The outer rings of Puggart Bench have something close to terra-normal gravity, but after so much time spent on little moons and worldlets, this much G feels weird and you have no desire to trudge back down to reception.         "You sure?" Asks Ezra.         "Yeah," you drop your day bag and press a hand to the mattress. "Look at the size of this thing. It's, like, five crash-couches wide. This seems above our pay grade."         "They're overbooked," says Ezra, "We're paying the same points for the berth we should have gotten. I made sure of it. I can sleep in that recliner if--"         "No."         "No?"         "Kevva, Ez, we're both adults," you say, "I think we can share a bed for a night without exploding."

        Your suite has a real, honest-to-Goddess shower with a generous 15 minute timer. You scrub as fast as you can and then just let the water hit you, let the pressure pound on your tense back muscles until the chime sounds and the water cuts off. You towel off and dress, soft clothes you sleep in, and pad out into the main room. Ezra is reading, face far off and serious, and you just look at him for a minute, illuminated in the warm lamp-light, absorbed in his book, little furrow between his brows and then he looks up, all knowing smirk and dancing eyes, he's caught you staring.         "Your turn, Ez," You say and turn your face away. Kevva. This man. You've been trying to keep things professional, but it's a losing battle. His flirtations make you flush, but he's never tried to push you, never tried to leverage the fact that it's his name on the ship's title, that you signed a contract, that you are junior-most crew. You feel safe with him. And, from your limited experience in the fringe, that is a miracle in itself.

        Ezra sets his book aside and heads for the bathroom. You peel the sheets from the other side of the bed and settle in. There's a media player bolted to the wall, but you just want quiet. You switch off the lamp on your nightstand (we both have lamps, we both have a nightstand, how weird is that?) The sheets feel deliciously cool against your skin. To be clean and sleeping in clean sheets...if Heaven isn't like this Kevva's got some answering to do.         Ezra sings in the shower. You're barely awake and you smile. Ezra can't carry a tune in a bucket, singing fringeling songs and reels, stories of mercs and pirates and ghosts and you drift off to the sound of him, the sound of the water running.

        He sees you soft and loose and asleep. No rail-gun, no body armor, no thrower under your pillow. Your face slack, snoring slightly. You've kicked out of the blankets and lay curled as if chilled.         "Hey Artichoke," he murmurs, pulls the blankets up and tucks them around you, "Let's get you warm, yeah?"

        Ezra wakes. Bleared red numbers of the clock saying that this is still the deepest ditch of local night. Ezra is warm and confused. He feels you pressed against him, your chest to his back, an arm hooked around his middle, your legs entwined with his. You've sought him out in your sleep and folded yourself around him, your breath slow and steady against his nape. Ezra's eyes prick with tears. He can't remember the last time he's been held like this. He's had lovers. He has payed for sex on the less reputable Benches of the Great Arm, but for someone to hold him? For someone to touch him without payment, without trying to press some advantage, gain some kind of leverage, without priming him for the inevitable backstab?  He is overwhelmed. He tries to wriggle away from you, but your arm just tightens around him.         "...fixed the transponder," you mutter against his neck, "told you we didn't need...told you..." He pats your arm and relaxes against you.         "Okay, Artichoke, okay, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

        You wake enfolded, Ezra's good arm wrapped around you. You feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the slow sussurration of his breath, the snores that catch in his throat and turn to murmurs, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. You've tucked yourself against him in your sleep. Your hand rests on his sternum. Oh Kevva. What are you doing? You go rigid.         Your first impulse is to wrestle out of his hold, take one of the blankets and install yourself in the recliner that you wouldn't let Ezra take, but part of you wants to stay right here in the combined warmth of your bodies, feeling his breath, his heart, his calloused palm spread against your shoulder. You shift, making the smallest effort to pull yourself away and his arm tightens further, a low, sleepy chuckle reverberates through his chest.         "Hi Ez,"         "Hi." He strokes the pad of his thumb along the exposed curve of your shoulder.         "I'll get up," you say, even as he shifts and cups the back of your head in his palm, tucking you closer.         "You don't have to," he says, voice rough with sleep. This gesture pricks at your heart. Coming up on Falnost has made you hard, guarded, there has been precious little gentleness in your life, pulling rocks out of the parched ground since you were big enough to lift a shovel. Learned to fight and shoot to chase water-thieves from the homestead. He strokes the back of your head like one might pet a skittish cat and your heart squeezes.         "Ezra?" You hate how small your voice sounds, you hate the uncertainty you hear there, "Are we okay?"         "Of course we are," he says, "Why wouldn't we be?"         "I wrapped around you like a Bueller's world python and I did it in my sleep-"         "The wrapping was mutual-"         "You're not mad or uncomfortable or anything?" He laughs again, gentle huff of breath against the crown of your head.         "Mad about waking with you in my arms? The day I'm mad about that you can just shoot me in the head and send me to Kevva because I will surely have lost my ever-loving mind." You smile against his skin and relax some, your hand unfists and you curl your arm around his soft belly, feel his breath hitch.         "Tickles."         "Sorry." You feel yourself drift, skirting the edge of sleep. He is warm and solid and you let yourself relax against him.         “This feels...safe..." you say, so close to sleep that you're not sure if you've said it aloud or if you've just thought it. And you're not sure if you hear his response or dream it, one word. Always.

        "She's late," says Ezra.         "We still got a sixteenth to button up and board,"         "Still," says Ezra, "Yon freighter will leave with our pod wether we're strapped in it or not." You see Cee and Kit, trailed by Kit's parents, weaving through the crowd. Cee is beaming, her blonde hair has a brilliant streak of blue, and Kit has a matching streak in their hair.         "Hey guys!" Cee hugs Ezra and then hugs you.         "How was your shore leave, Little Bird? I like the fancy hair."         "Isn't that cool? We've got matching streaks," says Cee.         "It's semi-permanent," says Kit, "We'll pick a different color next time!" You have to smile. Cee looks revitalized. Three cycles spent with her friend, just doing normal kid things has been good for her.         "Check this out!" says Cee and pushes a laminated drawing towards the two of you. Ezra makes a show of looking carefully.         "I recognize you and Kit," he says, "I am not familiar with these other people, though."         "They're from The Streamer Girl, dumbass," says Cee, "Here's Clo and Reive and Lily and Auri. See? Kit put us right in the story." Ezra gives Kit his best smile.         “You drew this? You are very talented." Kit smiles big.         "Thanks!" says Kit, "I'll put you guys in the next one! Maybe you could be professors at Bowsun Academy or something."         "I look forward to it," says Ezra.         "Time to go, Cee," you say and Cee and Kit exchange one more enthusiastic hug.         "Later fringeling!" Calls Kit.         "Piss off, stationer!" Cee calls back. Ezra curls his fingers around yours and squeezes. Cee tells you all about her three cycles with Kit, the movies they watched, the Real Food they ate. How Kit's little brother wanted a blue streak in his hair too and Kit's parents said no and how mad he got. I wanna be cool like Kit and Cee.         "I told him he's got plenty of time to be cool," says Cee, "And he told me that I don't understand how the world works. He's like, four." Ezra laughs.         "Wise for his years." Says Ezra. And the three of you fall quiet. You find the pod much as you left it, towed to the Polly Jean and clipped in, transferred by the station's tugs. You settle in and do a full systems check. Calling out the checklists and making sure everything is good for transit.         "What are you guys so happy about?" asks Cee.         "Whatever do you mean?" asks Ezra.         "You been all smiles since I hit the dock," says Cee, "Both of you. Did we score a really good job? Did we win the Puggart Bench lottery or something? What aren't you telling me?"         "That," says Ezra, "Is for us to know and you to endlessly speculate about."         "Hmph," says Cee.

Tagging: @oonajaeadira, @grogusmum , @honestly-shite, @writeforfandoms, @ladyvengeancesposts, @the-blind-assassin-12

[sour--disposition]

Little Limbs

This is inspired by an idea from the lovely @simp4sidemen, I hope I did your idea justice 🥰

-

Simon Minter x Fem!Reader

-

please check my masterlist to see if requests are open

The ring sat heavy on your finger. It had, after all, only been 2 months since Simon had presented you with the promise ring. 

After a beautiful date at a rooftop bar by the Thames, he’d pulled out a black velvet box, opened it and slid it across the table to you. “Is this what I think it is?”, you asked hesitantly.

“No”, Simon chuckled at the nervousness in your voice. “No, it’s not that. It’s a promise ring”, he told you, gently, nervously.

“Oh”, you were speechless, something that didn't usually happen around Simon, people usually couldn't get a word in edgeways around the two of you.

“It’s a promise that one day it will be what you thought it was. Its a promise that I’ll love you for as long as you’ll keep me. It’s a promise of me, to you, for you”, he said, fingers fidgeting over the box lid as his eyes held yours.

Tears sprung to your eyes and you quickly reached up to stop their flow. “Shit, I didn't mean to make you cry”, Simon panicked.

“No, no!”, you rushed out. “It’s not like that, that was just really beautiful and so is the ring and so was tonight. You just caught me really off guard”, you told him through your watery laugh. Simon instantly relaxed into his chair, relieved.

“Can I?”, he asked, nodding towards your hand. You nodded, and he reached over, picking up your right hand and slipping the ring onto your ring finger. “Perfect fit”, he smiled.

“Everything okay?”, Simon’s voice asked, pulling you out of your trance. You looked up to him, smiling softly.

“Of course”, you told him simply. “Can I wear this today?”, you asked, holding up one of his black Sidemen Clothing hoodies.

“Of course”, he repeated, a smirk dancing across his face. You huffed at him, throwing your night shirt, the shirt Simon had taken off when he got into bed the night before, at him as you got dressed. “You can’t throw my own clothes at me as an insult, Y/N. It just doesn't work like that”, Simon laughed.

“It just doesn’t work like that”, you mocked in a high pitched, whiny voice as you pulled your head through the neck of the hoodie, careful not to get any make up on it. Simon laughed at you, picking up one of the countless decorative cushions you'd plagued his room with, hurling it at your thigh. “Truce!”, you called, throwing your hands in the air to surrender, already knowing you wouldn’t win in a play-fight with Mr. Lanky-Long-Limbs in the corner.

You followed Simon out of the bedroom, down to the parking garage of the apartment building and into the car. “Are you sure we’re a team, yeah?”, you asked him.

Simon had roped you in to the Sidemen’s second parenting video. There was no host this time, just 4 teams trying not to kill a plastic, robotic doll in the streets of London. You’d agreed, of course, but only if you’d be paired with Simon. You’d throw the baby at JJ’s head in the first hour, guaranteed, and you weren’t here to lose.

“Yeah, and if not, I’ll just swap with whoever you’ve ended up paired up with”, Simon smiled simply, turning his eyes back to the road. The rest of the car journey was a comfortable silence, filled only by the sounds of your joint Spotify playlist running through the speakers. Simon’s hand rested on your thigh as he drove through the streets of London, occasionally mindlessly drumming along with the music as you waited in traffic.

Once you’d pulled up to Vik’s apartment, Simon parked the car. He squeezed your thigh softly before unbuckling his seatbelt. “Are you sure you’re okay?”, he asked you, voice tinged with worry.

“Yeah, I promise, Si. I just have a lot on my mind at the moment”, you told him honestly. His worry didn't subside, if anything it only got worse.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”, he took ahold of your hand, his fingers running over the band resting on your finger. “You know I’m always gonna be here for you?”.

“I know, Si. I promise I’m okay. We can talk about it later, yeah?”, you told him, twisting your fingers to wrap them around his and hold his hand properly. “I love you”, you reminded him, leaning over to kiss him. “Now, come on, let’s go get a baby”.

Two hours later, you and Simon were strolling through a baby shop, looking for an outfit for your new child. “Y/N! Look how cute this is!”, Simon yelped, holding onto a tiny grey onesie that had ‘I love my Daddy’ written across it. “I think Petunia needs this”, he told you seriously.

“No, Petunia needs an outfit fit for a little lady. She wouldn’t be caught dead in grey, Simon. Gosh, do you not know your own daughter!”, you laughed, leading him over to the aisle that held clothes better suited to the size of your doll.

“Is it something you ever think about?”, Simon asked you, sifting through the little pink dresses in front of him. “Us, I mean... Having one”.

“I do, yeah”, you smiled up at him, leaning into his side. “Do you?”, you asked him, chewing on your lip. Simon’s brow furrowed.

“I do. I know you’ll make a great mum. I mean, if you can look after me and JJ drunk, you can do anything. I just... I don’t think I’d be a good dad”, he sighed, hand stilling on the flowery dresses.

“Why?”, you asked him, tilting your head up to look at him. “The fact that you worry you wouldn’t be a good father already shows that you care. Nobody knows how to be a parent until they have to, Si”, you told him softly, slipping your arm around his waist to rest your hand on his hip. “I think you’d make a great dad”, you smiled.

“Really?”, he asked you, eyes lighting up as he looked down to your face.

“Yeah, I mean look how much effort you put into youtube and streaming and fan interaction. That alone shows you can commit to looking after something. Yeah, its different than like... a whole baby... but in the last 9 years, you’ve never given up on it”.

Simon didn’t say anything after that, just wrapped his arms around you and held you close to his chest, dropping a kiss to the top of your head, before you moved on to find Petunia some shoes.

“Y/N, she won’t stop crying”, Simon stressed. The two of you were finished in the baby shop, getting ready to make your way over to the tills to pay, when Petunia decided that it was time for all hell to break loose. “What do I do?”, he panicked.

“You go outside with her and feed her and I’ll get this”, you told him, handing the nappy bag containing all of Petunia’s belongings over to Simon.

-

You were quite sure that the footage of yours, Simon’s and Petunia’s day would be positively, mind-bogglingly boring. It turns out that the one pair that actually function as a couple 24/7 make a really good team, who’d have guessed it?

Back at Vik’s apartment, the student cards were sorted out so you could see how well you’d all performed in parenting. It was no surprise when Harry and JJ’s baby came last, given that it returned to Vik’s missing an arm, a few toes and an eye. Ethan and Vik came next, somehow managing to shut the baby off 20 minutes into their day so there was barely any information to even report back. Josh and Tobi’s baby had survived, albeit a bit hungry and tired. But Petunia... yours and Simon’s little lady had come out on top.

“Oh, I’m so proud of Petunia”, you and Simon had gushed, like real proud parents. You showed the boys the picture of Simon asleep on the sofa, Petunia’s hand grasped tightly in yours.

“You didn’t have to show them that”, he huffed, nudging your side.

As Vik retired the babies to a spare-room, the rest of the guys set to ordering take out. “Who wants a drink?”, Vik asked as he walked back into the living room and kitchen area. A chorus followed, all reeling off several alcoholic beverages.

“I’ll just have lemonade”, you told him with a smile. After managing to convince Vik that, yes, you were sure you only wanted lemonade, you went and sat back down with Simon.

“I got you something today”, you told him once all the guys had got their drinks and found a seat. “Here”, you told him, handing him over a small gift box.

“What’s this for?”, Simon asked, turning the box over gently in his hands.

“Just open it”, you told him.

Simon pulled the lid off of the box. His jaw dropped. “You’re...”, he trailed off.

Inside the box lay two positive pregnancy tests and the tiny onesie he’d shown you earlier on in the day.

“I found out last week, I didn’t want to tell you until I’d been to the doctors and checked properly”, you told him.

“Oi, what is it?”, JJ asked loudly. Simon’s only response was to hold up the little outfit to show the guys. “I’m gonna be an uncle?”, JJ asked, a lot softer this time. His face had split into a grin, as had the rest of the guys.

“Y/N’s pregnant”, Simon said softly, as if he was trying to convince himself. He looked over at you, and then down to the baggy fabric of his hoodie over your stomach. “Can I?”, he asked.

“Of course. It’s your baby, Si”, you chuckled happily. He reached out a hand, laying it gently over your side. “Are you okay?”, you asked him gently.

“Vik, can we borrow the balcony?”, Simon asked, turning his head to face his friend but not letting his hand leave your body. Vik nodded quickly, pointing in the rough direction of the door since he already knew that you and Simon knew the way.

“Should I not have told you in front of everyone?”, you asked quietly. Instead of saying anything, though, Simon dropped down to his knees in front of you, letting his large hands cradle your sides. He dropped a kiss to stomach, just below your bellybutton, and you instantly felt better.

“Hello, little one. Daddy loves you, too”.

[mrs-gucci]

Full Service {Maurizio Gucci x Reader}

author’s notes: hellooo! this idea was rolling around in my brain for a while, but it took a bit for me to get it just right. so, here’s the final finished product!

**I used a translation app for all of the Italian in this story, so I apologize for any mistakes or grammatical errors. all Italian will be in italics, with the translations following the dialogue in parenthesis.

**This is MY OWN INTERPRETATION of Maurizio Gucci’s character, as portrayed by Adam Driver in the upcoming film, House Of Gucci.

warnings: smut. maurizio calling reader “tesoro”™️. a tiny bit of fluff at the very end. maid/boss roleplay (lowkey?? except reader’s actually a maid lol). oral. no aftercare. dirty talk and name-calling/degradation, but in italian ;)

(possible) tw’s: indifelity/extramarital affair. implied age gap (reader is over 21, no more than 10 years difference).

word count: 2.7k

“Tesoro” means “Treasure” in Italian (an affectionate nickname).

You’d just begun cleaning the marbled kitchen when Mr. Gucci arrives home. You turn around and offer him a small smile, which he ignores, shrugging the briefcase off his shoulder. 

He immediately walks into his office and shuts the door without a single word or glance, and you probably wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the evening. That’s usually how it went. Patrizia wasn’t home yet, a surprise considering she’s usually home all day when you come to clean. 

You’ve developed quite the crush for Mr. Gucci as of late, although you’d never admit it aloud. He was a bit older than you, not to mention married. But, you couldn’t help it, he was unbelievably handsome, successful, and quick-witted when he wanted to be. Usually after a drink or two.

But, he was a man very dedicated to his work, which often left him with a stern demeanor and a harsh tone of voice. He barely paid you mind, especially not when work was waiting for him in his office. 

You continued to clean for another hour or so; it was a mansion, after all, and the kitchen was at least three times the size of your bedroom. Plus, the extensive marble surfaces and stainless steel appliances require your full service. You were so immersed in your work that you didn’t even notice Mr. Gucci’s presence behind you. 

Only when you turned around did you realize not only him, but the close proximity between your bodies. You gasp, backing up against the cabinetry. 

“Oh! Signore Gucci, mi scuso. Non sapevo che ci fossi.”  (Oh! Mr. Gucci, my apologies. I didn’t know you were there.)

His eyes look you up and down for a brief moment before returning to meet yours, a soft smile pulling at his lips. 

“Va bene, piccoletto. Non volevo farti da parte.” (It’s alright, little one. I didn’t mean to startle you.)

He sighs, looking away.

“Volevo informarvi che Patrizia non tornera stasera.  Ha deciso di restare la notte in una casa di amici.”  (I wanted to inform you that Patrizia won’t be coming back this evening. She’s decided to stay the night at a friends house.)

You could sense that there was something else going on, but you didn’t prod further, deciding that it was none of your business. You nod up at him, a bit confused as to why he’s telling you this. And why he has to be standing so damn close to tell you.

“Grazie per avermi informato, signore. Ho quasi finito di pulire la giornata, quindi saro via tra un’ora circa.”  (Thank you for letting me know, sir. I am almost done cleaning for the day, so I’ll be gone in an hour or so.)

Maurizio reaches his hand up to hold the side of your face, thumb swiping across your bottom lip. You freeze, tensing beneath his touch.

“Da quando hai iniziato a lavorare qui, ho trovato sempre piu difficile concentrarsi sul mio lavoro. Sai perche, piccoletto?” (You know, ever since you began working here, I’ve found it more and more difficult to focus on my work. Do you know why that is, little one?)

“No, signore, non lo so.” (No, sir, I don’t know.)

He runs a single finger down from my lips, tracing a straight line over my throat before it toys with the collar of my uniform.

“La tua uniforme...mi sta distrando.” (Your uniform is...distracting for me.)

The breath hitches in your throat as his fingers rub the material of the smoothed-down collar. His gaze flicks down to where his thumb and forefinger are.

“Quando ti vedo,” (Whenever I see you,)

He begins, leaning in a little closer.

“Trovo che i miei pantaloni cominciino a sentirsi stretti, il che e strano perche ho sistemato tutto il mio costume.”  (I find that my pants begin to feel tight, which is strange because I have all of my suits custom fitted.)

You nearly choke on your breath as his hand travels down the curves of your body, traversing the scoop of your hip before resting just above the hem of your uniform dress.

“E strano, sig. Gucci.” (That is odd, Mr. Gucci.)

His hand begins massaging the side of your thigh gently, and he leans down just a bit further, mouth now right in front of your ear. His hot breath sends a chill down your spine.

“Sta succedendo adesso, in effetti. Pensi di potermi aiutare con questo problema, Y/N?” (It’s happening right now, in fact. Do you think you could help me with this problem, Y/N?)

He presses you up against the cabinets, bodies flush together. A small groan escapes his lips when his obvious erection slides on your lower stomach.

You’ve never been as perplexed and aroused as you are in this moment. The burn between your thighs is nearly unbearable, and as much as you hate to admit it, you wanted this.

“Sono al suo servizio, signore.” (I am at your service, sir.)

Maurizio smirks, hooking a finger under the hem and pulling the stretchable fabric of your uniform dress out, then releasing it, allowing it to snap back into place on your outer thigh.

“In ginocchio, piccoletto.” (On your knees then, little one.)

Without hesitation, you slide down onto your knees, mouth watering as you look up at him, awaiting his next command. He cups your cheek, gently swiping his thumb across your cheekbone. 

“Bellissima e obbediente, capisco. Bene, bene.” (Beautiful and obedient, I see. Good, good.)

You bite your lip as he pats your cheek, then runs a hand over the bulge in his pants, sighing softly at the contact. His fingers curl up underneath, cupping and squeezing his balls while his thumb presses down on the head, rubbing it. He groans, letting out a shaky breath afterwards. 

“Vedi cosa mi fai fare, Y/N? Devo scendere e massaggiarmi cosi, togliendo tempo di lavoro prezioso.”  (Do you see what you make me do, Y/N? I have to reach down and rub myself like this, taking away precious work time.)

You’re soaked already, clit throbbing, begging for attention. You whine softly, chewing your lip as you resist the urge to lunge forward and run your face over his clothed length.

He smirks.

“Questo ti eccita, piccolo? Ti piace immaginarmi di toccarmi cosi nel mio ufficio?” (Does that thought excite you, little one? Do you like imagining me touching myself like this in my office?)

Your eager nod only spurs him on, hips pushing forward into his palm. He quickly takes his hand away, taking a small step closer so that the bulge is mere centimeters from your lips. Your jaw slacks and your breath becomes hot and heavy, mouth eager to worship him. 

His large hand gently wraps around the back of your head, pushing your head forward, encouraging you to touch him. You don’t require any further invitation, mouthing at his length while your nose drags against it. 

He widens his stance, spreading his legs apart as his hips start to grind against your mouth. 

“Oh, e cosi entusiasta. Mi piace, merda.” (Oh, she’s so eager. I love it, shit.)

The back of your head begins to hurt as it’s pressed further and further against the cabinet handles, but you don’t care, reaching around to grab his ass to pull him further into you. Even he seems surprised by this, asscheeks clenching as he suddenly thrusts forward with a low grunt. 

Maurizio wraps his hands in your hair, keeping you still as he pulls back, chest heaving slightly. His pupils are blown wide and he grabs your chin, thumb pressing down into the flesh. 

“Apri bene.” (Open wide.)

He says, grinning down at you as he begins pulling his belt buckle loose. 

Soon, he undoes his pants and pulls himself out from beneath the restrictive material, humming in satisfaction as his length bobs in front of you. His hands rest on either side of your head as he guides his weeping head towards your mouth. You open for him, and he leans forward, pushing into your mouth.

You immediately begin choking and gagging, but he just keeps going, pushing inch after inch inside. His abdomen tenses and his back curls when he’s shoved all of himself in your mouth, letting out a shaky exhale. 

“Cosi, oh bella ragazza, e cosi bella la bocca.” (That’s it, oh good girl, such a good mouth.)

You’re forced to remain still as your throat constricts, head pinned against the cabinets with his hands on either side. Once you adjust to the new intrusion, Maurizio pulls back before thrusting forward again, growling under his breath. 

“Cazzo, e una cosa buona per me.” (Fuck, that’s good, so good for me.)

All you can do is moan as your boss begins fucking your mouth, eyelids brimming with tears at the constant touch of his tip on your uvula. He bends over, supporting himself on the counter with an arm while his hand tightens in your hair, thrusts getting faster.

“Guarda questa bocca che mi allunga per il cazzo. Che brava ragazza, prendendo il cazzo dei capi come se fosse troia.”  (Look at this little mouth stretching out for my cock. What a good girl, taking her bosses cock like the slut she is.)

You moan loudly, hand swiftly snaking down between your legs, fingertips pressing on the throbbing nub to provide relief. When he sees you do this, it only seems to encourage him further, one foot scooting forward so that he’s now almost completely bent over you. 

His hips are becoming desperate, now, losing their rhythm as his inevitable release builds. 

“Ah, sapevo che avresti avuto una bella bocca, Y/N. Ho sempre saputo che saresti ansioso di prendere il mio uccello, disposto a lasciarti usare cosi.” (Ah, I knew you’d have a good little mouth, Y/N. I always knew you’d be eager to take my cock, willing to let me use you like this.)

You’re sobbing around him now, tears streaming down your cheeks at the sheer intensity of the arousal you’re experiencing. He looked so good like this: hair a mess, glasses fogged, panting and grunting with each thrust, all while he slams his cock into your mouth without relent.

Suddenly, he pulls out and stumbles back, hands gripping the edge of the countertop as he catches his breath. He stares down at you with a look of pure hunger, of carnal lust, and it makes you shudder. 

“Alzati e piegati al bancone. Subito.” (Stand up and bend yourself over the counter. Now.)

He strokes himself rapidly as you stand up on shaky legs and bend over, spreading your legs. He’s quick to come up behind you, grabbing your hips to pull you back a bit so that your hips were off the edge. 

You gasp when he yanks the skirt up over your hips, revealing your creamy globes and the red lace thong nestled between them. He growls, making quick work of your panties, shoving them down off your hips before running his fingers along your folds delicately, just barely brushing them. 

Maurizio smirks when your hips try to grind down on him, seeking the friction you so desperately needed. He smacks your ass promptly, causing a choked cry to leave your throat. 

“Stai fermo, Y/N.” (Stay still, Y/N.)

Two of his digits suddenly breach your soaked entrance, pushing up into you. You gasp softly, hips jerking slightly as he begins fucking his thick fingers up into you. His hand spreads across your lower back, keeping you still as he curls his digits up to rub and tease that spongy spot on your walls. 

“C-Cazzo, sig. Gucci, ti prego. Scopami, la voglio cosi male.”  (F-Fuck, Mr. Gucci, please. Please fuck me, I want it so badly.)

He grins, giving your g-spot a few more rubs before pulling his fingers out, smearing the slick over your lips.

“Succhiali, piccoletto. Assaggiati sulle dita.” (Suck them, little one. Taste yourself on my fingers.)

You open your mouth and moan around his digits as you suck them clean, tongue swirling around them before he takes them out. His tip pokes at your entrance and he runs himself over your folds to collect some lubricant before positioning himself behind you. 

“Pronta?” (Ready?)

You don’t even have time to respond before he shoves his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside you. Your eyes almost bug out of your skull before squeezing shut, a loud gasp coming from your lips. He isn’t necessarily hung, but he’s certainly the biggest and thickest you’ve ever taken. 

His fingers dig into your hips as he remains still, allowing you to adjust to his size. After a moment, he draws back before thrusting forward again, building a steady rhythm with his hips. Small noises come from his lips as he fucks you into the countertop. 

“Si, cazzo. Cosi stretto e piccolo, sapevi di sentirti bene circondato dal mio uccello.” (Yes, fuck yes. So tight and little, knew you’d feel good wrapped around my cock.)

Your insides clench at his whispered words.

“Quante volte ci ha pensato, signore?” (How many times have you thought of this, sir?)

“Troppi per contare.” (Too many to count.)

He growls, hips suddenly bucking forward out-of-rhythm.

“Ogni volta che mi sono toccata, ho pensato a te, a questa stronzetta. Mi chiedevo se fossi stretto e ho pensato che sarebbe bello dividerla a meta con il mio cazzo.” (Every time I touched myself, I thought of you, of this little cunt. I wondered if you’d be tight, and I thought of how good it’d feel to split you in half with my cock.)

Maurizio puts his hand under your thigh and puts it up on the counter, bending down so his chin rests on your shoulder.

“Te lo sei immaginato anche questo, piccolo? Hai pensato a me quando ti sei toccata?” (Did you imagine this too, little one? Did you think about me when you touched yourself?)

You nod.

“Si, signore. Ti pensavo cosi, immaginavo che fossero le tue dita dentro di mi invece che le mie.” (I did, sir. I thought of you like this, imagined it was your fingers inside me instead of my own.)

“Ragazza sporca.” (Dirty girl.)

He snarls, pounding into you harder, hips spurred on by your words.

You’re close, now, walls beginning to pulse around him. He feels this, one hand wrapping around your throat while the other trails down around your front, fingers seeking your clit. 

His hand tightens around your neck, fingers gripping your jaw.

“Lo sento, tu sei vicino, piccolo. Forze, sborra intorno al mio uccello. Copri il tuo capo nella sporca fiaca e mostragli che porchetta sei.” (I can feel it, you’re close, little one. Come on, cum around my cock. Cover your boss in your filthy slick, show him what a little slut you are.)

With only a few circles over your erect clit, coupled with his cock stroking your walls rapidly and the dirty manner in which he was speaking to you, your release comes within seconds. You moan hoarsely, lungs depleted of some oxygen as his hand tightens around your throat. 

“Cazzo, arrivo!” (Fuck, I’m cumming!)

He ruts desperately into you, chasing his climax as he fucks you through yours. At the last minute, he pulls out, furiously jerking his cock before thick hot ropes of cum shoot from his tip, painting your bare ass. He grunts and groans through the whole thing, stroking himself through it before squeezing the head, letting the final drop land on your skin.

Both of you take a moment to catch your breaths and re-center yourselves in reality. Maurizio tucks himself back into his pants before walking over to grab a paper towel, wetting it slightly. He wipes all the drying seed off of your skin for you, bending down to pull your panties back up and your dress back down. 

Your legs are shaky as you stand back up, smoothing out the front of your uniform. Much to your surprise, Mr. Gucci didn’t leave right away, instead turning you around and bending down for a kiss. 

The kiss was gentle and tender, a stark contrast to everything that's happened up until this point. His large hand cupped your cheek and his thumb ran along your cheekbone before he pulled away, offering you a small smile.

“Grazie, piccolo.” (Thank you, little one.)

You return the smile.

“Certo, signore.” (Of course, sir.)

Turns out, the marble and stainless steel weren’t the only things that required your full service today.

[coldsandfluff]

Friday Night Fever (F/M, Original, Illness Care-Taking Fluff)

Wrote this little original F/M care-taking fluff fic inspired by something that happened to me when I was in college (basically, caught a cold, three friends came over unannounced and insisted on me coming with them to the bar until one of them noticed the thermometer on my nightstand and realized I really was too sick to go). I've changed all the characters personality/appearance (including myself) so that we are completely unrecognizable, and added more to the story of course 😚

So if you like group of friends, platonic to maybe romantic care-taking fluff and F/M illness, read on!

--------------------------------------------------------------

Annabel left the sandwich shop at the end of her evening shift, feeling the cold autumn air seep through her jacket. Darkness had blanketed the town hours ago, and college students were already filling the streets on their way to the bars to celebrate the end of the week. Not that they’d really needed a reason to drink, of course.

As she launched the trash bags in the large dumpster in the back alley, Annabel felt an uncomfortable shiver running down her back. She’d been feeling under the weather for a couple of days, downing vitamin C fizzy drinks to stave it off. What she’d hoped would end up being a little annoying cold was turning out to be more than she’d bargained for. She could feel the icy tendrils of a fever crawling on her skin, and all she wanted to do was slip under the covers of her warm bed and sleep all weekend.

Her phone pinged as she started making her way back to her apartment.

Finn: We’ll be there in 40 minutes. Zack wants to pick up some pregame vodka from the store first.

Annabel sighed. She’d met Zack, Finn and Alex at her second job—a fancy new restaurant in the heart of town where she’d been waitressing part-time for the past two months. They’d hit it off on opening day, when Zack had accidentally broken a whole stack of plates. No one had seen what had happened but the four of them. Zack had gotten his dishwasher’s apron stuck on the door handle, and his hands had slipped at the sudden pull.

The crash had been deafening.

Right before the owner had rushed in to ask what had happened, Zack’s best friend, Finn, had kicked the wheel of the cart where the plates had been sitting a few moments ago, giving Alexander and Annabel a knowing look.

They’d all told the owner that the cart was broken and had tipped over without anyone touching it. Somehow, the owner had bought the lie. That night, Zack insisted on paying them a round of shots at the bar, and a tradition was born: The four of them. Every Friday. With lots of alcohol.

It was the only time Annabel let loose. With her two jobs and college, she was struggling to find free time, but Friday nights had become sacred. There was nothing like downing drinks and letting the buzz take over, following her three new friends wherever they wanted to go. It was always an adventure. Especially with Zack at the helm.

But tonight, there was no way she could make it.

Annabel: Actually, I can’t come tonight. Sorry.

She walked past a group of friends laughing and hollering, wishing she’d felt as good as they did. But the headache growing behind her eyes wasn’t going to let up, and adding alcohol to the mix would only make it worse. Not only that, but her nose had started running in the past two hours. She’d had to go blow it in the restroom every half hour, getting herself banished from the front of the store by the manager. She’d washed her hands so often that her skin was almost raw.

Just like her nose.

Finn: Nah, you’re coming. Nobody cancels Friday night. Come on.

Annabel couldn’t hold a smile. She typed back, sniffling. Her sinuses were prickling like crazy, as if she’d accidentally inhaled a cloud of tiny fireworks. She stifled a sneeze in the crook of her elbow, mid-word. “Ehh—Ehh’KSHHeeww!” Her eyes watered from the force of it. She wiped the tears away and resumed typing.

Annabel: I’ll make it up to you guys next weekend. Drinks on me.

She grabbed a crumpled tissue from her jacket pocket and dabbed at her nose. Her apartment was only a few blocks away, beckoning her. As she crossed the last stretch of sidewalk to the entrance, she kept checking her phone.

No reply.

Shrugging, she unlocked the front door and took the stairs.

***

Back in her apartment, she made a beeline for the bathroom to the right and used toilet paper to blow her nose, finally free to make as much noise as she wanted. She winced from the roughness of it on her chapped nostrils, but it was all she had. She wasn’t exactly the planning type. Her idea of a grocery list was memorizing the first three items and hoping the rest would come to her as she walked through the aisles. Most often than not, she’d have to make a quick run at the convenience store down the street to get what she’d forgotten.

She gathered her thick curly hair into a bun and looked at herself in the mirror. It was enough to confirm that she’d made the right decision. Her eyes were glazed over, her skin was so pale that her freckles popped like they did in the summer. Except for that slight flush high on her cheeks, of course. She popped a thermometer under her tongue and removed her work clothes, leaving them in a pile in front of the bathtub.

Shivering from the sudden change in temperature, she covered her arms with her hands and ran to her dresser. Her warmest, softest sweater was the first thing she grabbed and put on, before throwing on a pair of comfy leggings and wool socks. The thermometer beeped.

100.8 °F. Figured.

She rolled her eyes and shuffled over to the “kitchen” of her studio apartment, which was the size of a matchbox and only contained a mini fridge, a microwave and an old sink. She poured herself some water and walked over to the bed, placing her glass and the thermometer on her nightstand. She would have brought over medicine as well, but she’d run out last semester after catching the flu going around campus, and had forgotten to replenish her stash. No matter. She could sleep this off. It was just a cold.

She suddenly sneezed twice in a row, as if her body wanted to protest her minimizing her illness, then got under the cover. Just as she was getting a little warmer, propping up her laptop to watch a movie, there was a knock at the door.

Annabel sat up, startled.

“Anna, open up!” a voice said behind the door.

Zack.

Annabel chuckled. Of course they wouldn’t give up that easily. She groaned, getting out of the warmth of her bed. She considered rushing to the dresser and putting on cuter clothes—they were her friends, but they were still boys, and she didn’t want to look like shit in front of them—but the thought of it was enough to drain her energy. Screw it. She walked over to the door and opened it.

“Finn told us you don’t want to come,” said Zack as he walked in. It was her friends’ first time coming up to her apartment. They’d usually wait for her downstairs. “So we’re here to change your mind.” He didn’t look at her, too busy checking out her place. He was dressed for the night—a buttoned-up shirt, navy blazer, jeans and dress shoes. His casual chic style always stood out in the local bars filled with broke college students, but he liked it that way.

Finn walked in after him, a crooked grin on his lips. “See, I told you you can’t cancel Friday night.” His shaggy blond hair half-covered his eyes, as always. Finn and Zack had been best friends since high school, and couldn’t have been more different from each other. At least physically. Finn was tall and lanky, Zack was smaller and worked out a lot. But they were both party guys, always ready for a crazy night—even though Finn was a bit more mellow than Zack.

Finally, Alex came in, and Annabel closed the door behind him. He had a sheepish look on his face, as if apologizing for the other two. He was a lot more like Annabel. Quiet, chill, along for the ride—whatever it may be. His deep brown eyes held her gaze for a second too long, and Annabel noticed one of his eyebrow raise ever so slightly. She bit her lip, feeling self-conscious about her appearance. They’d never seen her in such a state before. Thank god she hadn’t had the energy to remove her makeup yet.

“So this is where you live, uh?” Zack said, sitting on her desk chair and spinning it around and around. “I like it. Dorms suck.”

Before she could reply, Finn tsked. “Wow. So no love for your roommate, uh?”

“Dude, I love you,” Zack said, “but between you and an apartment all to myself, the choice is obvious.” He stopped spinning and turned to Annabel, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s so important that you can’t come with us? Do you have a date?”

All three boys turned to her. Annabel almost laughed. Could they not see the condition she was in? She cleared her throat. “No, I’m just not feeling well.”

Finn sat on the edge of her bed and examined her from afar. “Like what? Stomach thing? Flu?”

“Probably a cold, I guess.” Annabel could feel Alex’s gaze on her at her side. She glanced at him, then looked down, feeling silly. Now that she was saying it out loud, it sounded like a poor excuse. But she did have a fever, after all. She just didn’t want to start listing her symptoms.

Zack clasped his hands together. “You know what will make you feel better? Alcohol!” He grinned, as if proud of his solution. “Didn’t they used to give brandy to people when they were sick? We’ll make a special mix for your throat. Something with lemon and orange juice. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, I already have a headache…” Annabel said.

“Just take a couple of Tylenol. It’s like a hangover in advance,” Finn said with an encouraging smile. “One time, I went out clubbing with an ear infection and everything was fine. Actually felt better the next day, weirdly enough.”

“I don’t know guys, I won’t be much fun if—” Annabel was interrupted by a fierce tickle deep in her nose, spreading like wildfire. She ducked to her side, away from Alex. “Ehh’KSSHeeew! ‘KSSSHeeew!”

“Bless you,” the three boys said almost in unison.

“See?” Annabel said, pointing at her nose and sniffling. “You want me to sneeze all over you guys all night?”

Finn shrugged. “We’ll bring tissues. Whatever.”

Alex walked over to the bathroom and grabbed the toilet paper roll from the counter, then handed it to her. “Here.”

Annabel ripped a piece off and wiped her nose. “Thanks,” she said, sheepish.

Alex’s gaze paused on her for a few seconds before he turned to the other two. “Guys, she’s obviously sick. Let’s just go and let her sleep.”

“It’s just a cold,” Zack said. “She’s young and healthy. It’s nothing.” He got up and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Give it an hour, and if you’re not feeling better after a few shots, we’ll walk you home.”

Annabel considered it for a second, trying to fight the shivers. Maybe if she wore something warm and took a few shots, she wouldfeel better. Numb the pain a little, at least. While she pondered it, Finn laid down on top of her bed spread and locked eyes with the thermometer on her nightstand. He frowned and sat up, picking it up.

He looked at her, thermometer in hand. His voice softened. “It’s that bad, uh?”

Annabel blushed. Why did admitting that she had a fever feel so vulnerable? She looked down and nodded. “Kinda.”

Zack looked at the thermometer, then back at Annabel. He narrowed his eyes and put a hand on her forehead. “Ooof,” he said, a hint of concern slipping in his tone.

Finn got up. “Let me see,” he said, walking up to her and placing his own hand on her forehead. His eyebrows shot up. “Yikes.”

“Yeah, you need to be in bed,” Zack finally said, guiding her back to bed. “Why didn’t you say you had a fever? Jesus, Anna.”

She shrugged, sitting on her mattress. “I don’t know. I just get fevers with colds. I guess it’s normal for me.”

“Fevers suck,” Finn said. “Last time I had one, I stayed in bed for two days and everything hurt.” He walked over to the front door. “We’ll miss you tonight, though.”

Zack followed. “Hope you feel better. We’ll text you all the crazy shit that’s going to happen so you don’t miss anything.” He followed Finn out of the apartment, leaving the door open for Alex.

Alex watched them walk by, then grabbed the roll of toilet paper on the counter where Annabel had left it. He brought it over to her nightstand and gave her a sad smile. “Do you need anything?”

Annabel shook her head, relieved that she was going to be able to stay in bed. “I’ll be okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a second, then nodded. “Let us know if you want us to get you food later. I know I can never sleep when I have a fever.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. Her nose scrunched up, overtaken by another annoying prickle. “Ehh… Iihh’KSSSHHeeww!”

“Bless you.”

Zack’s voice sounded from the hallway. “Alex, you coming?”

Alex snickered. “I guess I should go.” He walked to the door, then turned back. “Feel better, okay?”

“I will. Thanks.”

***

Annabel tried to sleep, but her fever and runny nose kept waking her up, leaving her floating halfway between dreams and reality. It was clear that she wasn’t going to get any rest in her state. She needed cold medicine.

It took her a long time to finally convince herself to get out of bed and go to the convenience store, but she managed to push the covers away and get up. She shivered, causing another tickle in her sensitive nose—it had only gotten worse in the hour since the boys had left. She ducked at the waist in an exhausting triple. “Ehh… Hehh’KSSSHeeeew! ‘KSSHHeeew! Hiihh’KSSHeeew!”

Just then, another knock sounded at the door. Annabel frowned and made her way to the door, cracking it open.

It was Alex. Alone.

“Bless you,” he said with a shy grin.

Annabel let him in. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with the guys?”

He shrugged, closing the door behind him. “I thought you might need this.” He showed her a plastic bag filled with tea, tissue boxes, ramen, cough drops and—she gasped—cold medicine.

Alex chuckled. “So I was right. You don’t have any medicine, do you?”

Annabel laughed. “How did you know?”

“Your nightstand. You only had a thermometer on there. When I’m sick, I take Nyquil everywhere I go.” He handed her the bag. “And I wanted to make sure you had tissues instead of toilet paper. Your nose will thank me.”

Annabel touched her chapped nose, smiling. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” He stood there for a second, as if not knowing what to say. “I’ll uh—I’ll let you rest.”

Before he could go, Annabel put her hand on his elbow. “Wait. Do you want to—” She stopped halfway through her sentence, her nose scrunching up yet again, her eyes fluttering. She spun around and sneezed, covering her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “Hehh’KSSHH! Ht’Ksshht!” She turned back around, blinking away the tears and laughing. “Sorry!”

Alex laughed, too. “Bless you.” He held her gaze, then looked down. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh—I was just wondering if—maybe if you’d like to watch a movie with me. I don’t think I can sleep until the medicine kicks in.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted saying them. Of course he didn’t want to watch a movie with her. This was Friday night. What kind of college guy wanted to hang out with a sick, sneezy, nose-drippy girl on a Friday night instead of getting drunk with his friends. “Sorry,” she added quickly, “I forgot that the guys are probably waiting for you. I guess I’m kind of loopy from the fever.”

Alex took a step forward and placed his hand on her forehead. The gesture was so gentle, so soft, that Annabel closed her eyes, appreciating the coldness of his palm on her hot skin.

“You are definitely burning up,” he half-whispered, frowning. “I was wondering if the guys were exaggerating. Guess not.”

Annabel bit her lip. “I’ll be okay after I take the medicine. You don’t have to stay.”

Alex removed his hand. “I do,” he blurted. “I mean, I do want to watch a movie with you. And stay.”

“Are you sure?” Annabel asked through her blossoming smile. “Aren’t you worried you’ll catch my cold?”

“Actually, I have a confession to make.” Alex led her to the bed and placed the content of his bag on her nightstand. “Last Friday, I kind of had a cold. It wasn’t as bad as yours, pretty minor, but… Zack convinced me to come out anyway and I—I think I might have given it to you. You drank out of my glass and I didn’t have time to stop you.” He looked at her, his eyes wide with guilt. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Annabel laughed. “I can’t believe Zack didn’t rat you out earlier. It would have been the perfect example of someone going clubbing with a cold and ‘being fine’ anyway.”

“He probably knew it was partly his fault that you’re sick and didn’t want to admit it.”

Annabel shook her head. “Well, you owe me a Friday night.” She got into bed and patted the spot next to her. “That means I get to pick the movies.”

Alex grabbed the throw blanket at her feet and draped it over her. “That sounds fair.” He walked over to the other side of the bed and settled next to her. “But when you fall asleep, I can’t guarantee I won’t change it.”

“Deal.”

After taking a dose of Nyquil, Annabel started the movie, snuggling under the blanket. She wondered what kind of crazy adventures Zack and Finn were getting themselves into. She expected to feel FOMO, but instead, she shot a glance at Alex next to her, and realized she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Maybe it was the fever, or maybe it was Alex’s shoulder touching hers, but it felt like this was the start of a different kind of adventure. Maybe not alcohol-fueled, but Nyquil was pretty close.

All because they’d shared a not-so-secret cold.

And Annabel had a feeling it would be worth the fever. And the countless sneezes to come.

THE END

[snackhobi]

pairing: yoongi x reader // word count: 15.8k // genre: smut

summary: your idea of a good night certainly doesn't involve being stood up by yet another blind date and finding yourself alone in a fancy bar; fortunately for you, there's an attractive man playing the piano to keep you busy, instead.

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), cursing, minor consumption of alcohol, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, pet names, slight exhibitionism, slight praise kink, light dom/sub undertones if you squint ig (reader is kind of subby)

– –

Throughout the years of your life, you've learned a few things. Some of them are pretty obvious (buying suspiciously cheap sushi from a petrol station is like playing Russian Roulette with food poisoning and diarrhoea), some of them are less so (just because something is 'on sale' doesn't actually mean that it's cheaper if they'd increased the overall price beforehand), but one thing that you're only just starting to learn is that— for all that Jimin says otherwise— blind dates will always stand you up.

jiminnie is he there yet??

you to my entire lack of surprise, no. i'm starting to wonder if this 'hoseok-hyung' of yours even exists tbh i should have been suspicious from the second you called him a 'friend' bc that implies that you HAVE friends

jiminnie ok RUDE. we're friends??

you suddenly i can't read

The two of you had been outrageously drunk after a night out on the town, once, and Jungkook had come to collect his tipsy boyfriend, and you'd seen the fond way he'd watched Jimin despite his messy behaviour— how he'd given Jimin a piggyback even though it must have been hard with the way Jimin had been squirming and laughing and kicking his legs back and forth— and your heart had squeezed tight in your chest. (You'd been so drunk.)

It had honestly been a slip of the tongue when you'd revealed to Jimin that you were kind of maybe feeling somewhat lonely, a little bit, potentially. You'd had one night stands and short flings but it's been a long time since you've been in an actual relationship, a long time since you've really clicked with someone. Maybe part of you had been missing it, that connection with another person. Normally you're fine with being single, but Jungkook and Jimin are so in love that it spills out from them and you guess in the moment you'd wanted to feel that, too.

You blame the alcohol. You also blame your own loose lips. And Jimin, you blame him too, for persuading you to go clubbing in the first place. You don't even remember what you'd said, waking up with a headache the weight and size of a tectonic plate, groaning at the pain of the morning light stabbing into your eyes, but with no recollection of your admittance that maybe you were tired of being single. Your best friend, however— despite having drunk more than you— could recall the previous night with crystalline clarity, much to your horror and embarrassment. And, because Jimin is Jimin, he'd latched onto what you'd said with the tenacity of a dog with a bone.

Fast forward to where you're sitting now, on yet another arranged date that he's planned for you— and once again, you've been stood up.

you i'm starting to wonder if any of the people you've tried to set me up with are even real

jiminnie omg they ARE you had a nice time with lisa??

Okay, so you hadn't been stood up for every date. Lisa had been the only person who'd shown up, and she was cute and friendly and you got on like a house on fire, but you'd very quickly found out that she was actually head over heels for her best friend Jennie. You being you, your first date had rapidly turned into you giving your new friend a pep-talk and hyping her up— and suffice to say you've been having weekly girl's brunches with Lisa and her now-girlfriend Jennie ever since. So, yes, technically you haven't been stood up every time, but still.

you yes, my ideal first date involves telling the other person that their best friend is definitely in love with them too :))

jiminnie I'VE ALREADY SAID THAT I'M SORRY :(

you LMAO it's fine, it's always nice to make friends but seriously minnie, like,, if your friends are going to stand me up, could you at least have had the decency to organise the date somewhere less fancy? i spent ages getting ready and noah fence it kind of feels like i just wasted a bunch of my time,,

Jimin doesn't fuck around. From the outside the bar, Dionysus, exudes a quiet aura of exclusivity. Inside, however, it has a surprisingly understated atmosphere despite its namesake being the Grecian god of Getting Turnt, the sleek interior paired with soft lighting and stylish fixtures, elegant. 

Either way, it's the kind of place that warrants you actually pulling out the stops with your outfit and makeup; you rarely have a reason to doll yourself up like this and it makes a nice change of pace, but it seems like you shouldn't have bothered. What's the point in putting on a cute dress and nice heels, or doing your hair and opening your expensive Too Faced eyeshadow palette for the first time, if you're just going to be sitting alone at a bar all night? At least you don't stick out, which is good, you guess.

You are the only person who's alone, though. It's midweek and everyone else is seated around one of the tables, couples and groups that are engaged in quiet discussion or watching the show— there's a small stage where there's a quartet performing live music— but you're perched on one of the barstools, tapping away at your phone, alone. If anyone were to pay any attention it would be obvious that you've been stood up, but they're all too busy having an enjoyable evening to spare a glance at the girl sitting by herself at the bar.

The only person who's paying attention to you is the bartender. He's clearly good at his job, keeping an eye on you and making you feel welcome without seeming like he's hovering; he doesn't act like you're being an inconvenience, but you give him a hefty tip each time you order a new drink anyway. Hoseok might not be turning up tonight but if you've gone to the effort of dressing this nicely and getting a taxi here then goddamn you're going to make the most of it.

It takes forty two minutes and three virgin cocktails before the handsome bartender speaks to you, saying something beyond the customary back and forth you've had so far as he hands you your next mocktail. 

"Are your friends usually this late?"

You let out a little huff of laughter. "Something like that." Normally you'd be more hesitant to speak to a stranger like this, but the bartender's eyes are warm and his smile seems genuine and from what you can tell, he's just making that sure you're okay. "Seems like it'll just be me for tonight."

"You're welcome to stay and wait as long as you like," he says, and you can't help but quirk a grin at him.

"I bet you say that to all the paying customers."

He laughs and raises his hands in surrender. "You got me." And then: "If you want another drink, just give me a shout. I'm Seokjin, but everyone calls me Jin."

"As in, Jin and tonic?" You smile. "Sure. I'll be sure to remember that. I'm Y/n."

"Nice to meet you, Y/n." Jin gives you a grin before disappearing down the other side of the bar to make drinks for some other customers. Your own smile slowly fades, and then turns into a frown, eyes landing on the clock on the wall; Hoseok is forty five minutes late at this point. (You know he's not going to show.) It's been so long that the musicians on the stage have finished their set and are leaving, a different performer about to step on, and you sigh. You'll finish this last drink and then you'll go.

You use your straw to stir the mint leaves and ice cubes around, muddling the flavours in your glass. You haven't really been paying attention to the music before now; you couldn't name the songs that have been performed so far, but they're common enough that you'd recognised the sound of them, the sort of music that most people could hum along to but probably wouldn't know the origin of. Easy listening. Pleasant, but nothing new. It's clearly more about setting a nice backdrop to the bar rather than music for music's sake. A background noise, rather than acting as the focal point of the bar.

You assume this is going to be the case for the next musician, and so you barely pay any mind as the he takes to the stage alone; you're looking down at your glass as he sits at the piano and puts his feet on the pedals and places his hands on the keys, but then, he starts to play.

Your eyes snap up. A chord hangs in the air, extended, haunting; a crescendo into a light melody; the chords dip, waters dark and deep while he weaves the higher notes with infinite softness, ebbing notes that fade into each other, his fingers dancing across the keys with grace and ease. You notice with a throb in your chest that he has no sheet music. He's pulling this music from inside him, his mind, entirely from his own memory.

His eyes are cast down as he watches his hands, but you can see how they slip shut whenever he tilts his head back, fringe hanging over them. His hair is bleached blond but he clearly hasn't been maintaining the look, with dark roots starting to show through. His posture is horrible, his spine a little curved as he slouches forward, and he's not dressed as sharply as the other musicians had been— there's no tie around his neck and he has a multitude of earrings in, rings on his fingers, changing his outfit into something a little messy and different and entirely unique.

He's fucking breathtaking.

Without realising, you've swivelled away from the bar to watch him. Your drink is still clutched in your hand but you pay it no mind, condensation gathering on the cold glass and dripping down your fingers the longer you sit there, ice cubes melting as he finishes his first song and moves onto the next. Same as the first, you don't recognise it, the melody echoing deep in your chest, speaking of some feeling that you can't put a name to, each sliding arpeggio and chord reaching inside you and hanging there, little glowing droplets that shine out like moonlight.

Each of his pieces are entirely different and yet they all feel like him, somehow. Strong and soft and lovely and aching. The water from your glass has pitter-pattered onto your lap, darkening the fabric of your dress in some nameless constellation, but you don't notice. Your world has narrowed down to: the sound of his music, the motions of his hands, the way he bends into the notes, him. 

Your eyes trace his profile, the cat-like eyes, the round of his nose, the pout of his lips, falling into the way he lifts his chin and tilts his head; thoughtless, gorgeous.

You don't realise that it's over until it's over. The final notes hang in the air, crystallising, and then they fade. He finishes with little fanfare, tilting a polite nod at the audience that claps for him, and then he slips off the stage and is gone just as quickly as he had come. You blink, coming back to yourself; you feel like you're rising out of deep water, motions slow and heavy, and you don't know how long you've been sitting there, entirely entranced. You'd been too distracted to clap. You'd just sat and watched in silence as he'd turned to leave, barely sparing the room a glance.

"Good, isn't he?"

Normally you would have startled at Jin's sudden appearance. Instead you just blink again, still trying to shake off the daze you've found yourself in. "Yeah." Your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat and suck in a breath and put your drink down, dripping wetness that leaves a ring on the smooth wood of the bar, and try to speak normally this time, willing your voice to be level. "Yes. He's very good."

"Yoongi is here at the same time every week," Jin supplies, tone conversational, like he's just having a regular chat. Yoongi. His name is Yoongi. You wonder if Jin can hear how your heart is pounding, the galloping hooves of a wild horse that tumble in your chest. You try to keep your expression stoic as you look at him, scared that he'll be able to read what's written across your face— but he's smiling at you in the same way as before. Just a barkeeper who's trying to get a return customer. (Although, you'd swear there was a glint in his eye for the briefest moment, but then it's gone.) "He changes the set each time, if you're interested in coming back to hear something new."

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow, trying to wet your lips. Dionysus is too fancy of a place to ask customers for tips for the musicians, but— "Can I buy him a drink?"

Jin cocks his head at you. "A drink? For Yoongi?"

"Yes," you say. You feel a little shy when you spot his expression, biting your lip. "I just really enjoyed the music, and I'd like to tip him somehow? Is that a normal thing that people do?"

Jin pauses, and then smiles. This smile is a little wider than the ones he's given you before, different, but he seems pleased. "Who cares about what's normal? I'll get a drink to him. What would you like?"

"Um, whatever he prefers," you say. You figure that Jin would have a better idea about what that is than you, which is proven true by his almost instantaneous reply.

"He likes red wine, or whisky, neat. I think tonight is a whisky kind of night." He's already going through the motions of putting the drink together, and you slide him money as he begins to pour. You know nothing about Yoongi but you can't help but feel like the drink suits him— simple, classic, masculine. "Do you want me to pass on a message for you?"

"Um, you can just say that it's from someone who enjoyed the music, I guess?" You giggle a little, feeling awkward and off balance. Jin is looking at you like he's expecting you to say something else, but you just want to express your enjoyment of Yoongi's music and nothing more. You don't— you don't want to be weird, you just like the sound of his piano playing.

Jin disappears into the back with the glass of whisky, and you finish the watery remnants of your drink before you leave, ice cubes completely melted in the— wow— forty minutes that Yoongi had been playing. It hadn't felt that long at all.

It's not until you're stepping through your front door that you realise you haven't looked at your phone since before the beginning of Yoongi's set. Jimin's messages have been changing from apologetic to concerned to downright frantic.

jiminnie Y/N BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP

you how many times should i blink if i don't need help?

jiminnie omg you're ALIVE where were you?? i was starting to get worried

you sorry i got distracted! but i'm fine, i'm at home hoseok never showed

jiminnie yeah i know :(( he messaged me saying he had an emergency and couldn't make it tonight but he's free this weekend??

you … remember when i said that this was the last blind date i was going to go on?

jiminnie it doesn't count as a date if hyung never turned up!!!

you that isn't true and you know it omg minnie… i appreciate what you're trying to do but pls bb. let it rest

jiminnie i just want you to be happy :((

you i don't have to be in a relationship to be happy

jiminnie you said you were lonely!

you omg i was DRUNK let it GO besides being stood up by multiple blind dates isn't going to help me feel less lonely lmao i get that you're happy in your relationship with kookie and you want to spread that happiness but you don't have to!! i'm fine!! yeah i get lonely sometimes but what single person doesn't?? i'm happy being by myself hhhhh

jiminnie fine :(( but if you change your mind, hobi-hyung would still love to meet you!

As you kick off your heels, humming a bar of Yoongi's music to yourself, you think that Hoseok probably shouldn't bother holding his breath.

(That night, when you sleep, you dream of dark eyes and the press of a sinfully perfect cupid's bow against your own lips, a pair of large hands drawing noises from you like a glissando, rings cool against your heated skin.)

–

Wednesday nights become a ritual of sorts. You get dressed, do your hair, match your makeup to your outfit and shoes, coordinating your look into something that doesn't look out of place in Dionysus before you hop into a taxi and make your way to the bar.

You're a firm regular by now. Your seat has become just that, your seat, the same one you'd been sitting in the first time you'd been there; it's towards the dimmer lights at the back and so you're sitting further away from the stage than you might like, but at least you can see the whole room from here. You turn up twenty minutes before Yoongi's set and Jin always greets you warmly when he sees you: you've quickly come to enjoy your chats. Jin is always unashamedly himself and the two of you joke and laugh as he works, but he always knows to leave you alone as soon as Yoongi steps onto the stage. 

For the next forty minutes the rest of the world fades away as you drink Yoongi and his music in, listen to the lilting notes he coaxes out of the piano, watch how his fingers rest on each key before he slides into his next piece, reverent.

You never ever explicitly mention Yoongi in your conversations with Jin, though. The bartender seems to bring the musician up anyway; he does it smoothly, in a way that's utterly casual, and he seems to know a surprising amount about someone who is, by all accounts, a very private person. (You're not complaining about the fact that you now know that Yoongi wears Kumamon slippers because his feet get cold easily— "he's cold blooded, like a lizard," apparently— but you do wonder how Jin knows that.)

The Yoongi that Jin describes is just as beautiful as the man you see on stage, but less mysterious, less distant— and yet he still intimidates you. 

Jin might be his friend but to you Yoongi is unapproachable. Untouchable. To him you're just a nameless face in the audience, nothing more. His eyes will slide across the room before he starts his performance, but he never seems to notice you; it's no surprise, sitting where you do, in an area of relative darkness in comparison to the rest of the bar, and once he sits down he only looks at the piano under his hands. He has no eyes for anything else. You're far enough away and his lashes are cast so low that even when his eyes are open it's hard for you to see where he's looking, and the shadow of his fringe hides how his pupils scan his hands as he plays, anyway.

Every week, when the set draws to a close, Jin is already pouring Yoongi's whisky or wine and you slide him the exact amount of change. Every week, Jin asks if you want to pass on a message, and every week, you say the same thing: that it's from someone who enjoyed the music. And that's that. Jin will disappear to give Yoongi his drink and you'll finish your own drink in quiet solitude before you slide off your barstool to go home.

(The only thing that's changed over the weeks is that the music Yoongi plays seems to be a little lighter and— dare you say— happier? He still looks down at the piano with the same intensity, still lays his hands on the keys with the same delicate pressing weight before he begins to play— but with some songs he seems to be teasing the music out, flirting with each note, eyelashes fluttering as he lifts his chin and moves his hands.

You're not a musician by any means, so you don't know how to describe it with any sort of accuracy or terminology, but to you it's like the deep waters of Yoongi's music have been cut through with light, beams of sun rippling through the dark blue. You don't know what's caused this change, the slow uplift in his mood throughout the weeks, but you hope he manages to keep hold of it, whatever it is.)

Between work and studying and volunteering and making time to see friends, you don't often have time entirely to yourself, and so Wednesday nights are a rare moment of peace during your otherwise busy week. That's why when Jimin says that he's had to rearrange your weekly film night to Wednesday— because he and Jungkook are going down to Busan to see each other's families this weekend— you decline. 

Jimin is rendered speechless and demands to know why.

"I'm busy," is your answer. Jimin doesn't buy it.

"You're never too busy for movie night," he says. "Wednesday is the only night we're all free."

"Well, I'm not free, Minnie. Sorry," you say. His head is in your lap, your fingers gently stroking his hair, and you can easily see the way his face contorts with disbelief as he stares up at you.

"Do you hear that, babe? Y/n is too busy for our weekly tradition." Jimin sounds scandalised.

Jimin is stretched out between the two of you— while his head is in your lap, his feet are in Jungkook's, the younger man idly massaging his boyfriend's ankles and feet. "Yes, babe, I heard," Jungkook says, indulgent.

"What's more important than movie night?" Jimin lifts one of his legs and Jungkook turns his attention to that one, digging his fingers into the arch of Jimin's foot. Jimin sighs in relief, but then turns the full force of his stare back at you. "We were going to watch Spirited Away. You love Spirited Away."

"I'm just busy," you say, and that had been your mistake. You should have had some sort of credible reason but you hadn't been prepared, and while he hadn't made it obvious at the time, Jimin had latched onto your vague excuse, sniffing out weakness like a shark with blood in the water. If you'd been paying attention you'd have noticed, but you hadn't paid attention and so you hadn't noticed. (Whoops.)

And so, Wednesday night that week is the same as always; Yoongi plays his music, you fall a little bit more in love, and pass your compliments to him with Jin as the mouthpiece. You go home, wash your makeup off, and arch into the touch of your own hand while imagining it's someone else's fingers sliding across your skin. Routine. Normal. Uninterrupted. Peaceful.

The next week, however, it all goes to shit.

Okay. Maybe that's a little dramatic. It's not as bad as all that. The night starts as normal: you're on your stool, and you have your drink, and you have ten minutes until Yoongi is due to play, shifting to get comfortable, crossing your legs.

But then: 

"Oh my God, you're wearing your come fuck me heels," comes Jimin's voice from behind you, and your blood turns to ice.

You turn on the barstool so fast you almost fall off it. You come face to face with Jimin who has an expression of what can only be described as sheer delight on his face. He's even dressed appropriately for the bar, a silk shirt tucked into his Very Tight jeans and a subtle smoky eye to top it off; Jungkook looks nice, too, but you have no doubt that he's only here under sufferance, if the infinitely apologetic look on his face is anything to go by.

"Jimin?" Your voice comes out as a hiss. If you were a cat your back would be up and your hackles would be raised and all your fur would be on end, your entire body going into fight mode. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see for myself what was more important than movie night," Jimin says simply, like it's obvious. "So here we are."

"Sorry, Y/n," Jungkook apologises from over his boyfriend's shoulder. Jimin ignores him.

You can feel how your face is starting to flush, your skin crawling with embarrassment. You change your outfit every week and your friends have managed to turn up on the one week where you've cycled into what could probably be considered your most promiscuous one, the hem of your dress high and the cut of it low, along with shoes that Jimin had rightfully named as your Come Fuck Me heels. It wasn't because you were trying to seduce anyone but you only have so many items in your wardrobe that are appropriate for Dionysus. 

"How did you find me?"

"I have my ways," Jimin says mysteriously.

"He stalked your Bitmoji on Snapchat. Ow." Jungkook pouts as Jimin slaps his arm. "Sorry, again. I said we should leave you alone but Jimin said we should check in case you'd been kidnapped because you never willingly go into bars."

You're interrupted by Jin, who'd been busy serving someone when your idiot friends had turned up; he leans across the bar and touches your shoulder and fixes Jimin and Jungkook with the most intimidating look you've ever seen on his face. You know Jin as a light-hearted pun master, harmless and goofy and approachable, a great friend— but right now he looks like some sort of beautiful guardian angel, broad shouldered and narrow eyed and honestly, pretty menacing. 

"Are you alright?" He keeps his eyes on the other two men as he speaks. "Are these guys bothering you?"

Jimin, rather than looking cowed, looks like he's reached a stage of absolute euphoria, eyes darting between Jin's hand on your shoulder to your face. Jungkook's face, meanwhile, is doing that thing it does whenever someone issues him some kind of challenge, his sweetness abruptly being swallowed by his competitive side and his stubborn refusal to lose anything. You're the only person who has the power to save this situation before it goes absolutely tits up, and you swallow down a resigned sigh.

"I'm fine, thank you, Jin," you say, looking at him with a smile as you pat the hand on your shoulder. "Unfortunately these guys are my friends, much to my infinite suffering. Well, Jungkook's alright. Jimin is the one who's the pain."

"Hey," Jimin whines. Jungkook looks quietly pleased, but pretends to scowl when Jimin looks at him, offended on his boyfriend's behalf.

Jin still seems unhappy but pulls his hand back. "Alright," he says, but then he pitches his voice low so that only you can hear: "If you need any help, just ask me for a rum and soda, okay?"

You always order mocktails whenever you're here, wanting to stay completely sober so that you can enjoy Yoongi's playing with all the attention it deserves. You've never asked for anything alcoholic, least of all a rum and soda. Although you really are okay, you can't help but be warmed by Jin's concern for you and how he's offering you this careful, considerate lifeline in case you need it. "I will do. Thanks, Jinnie."

He smiles at you and then gives Jungkook and Jimin one final frown before going to deal with a gaggle of customers who've gathered at the other end of the bar. While Jungkook remains standing, taking in the interior of the bar with wide eyes, Jimin slides onto the stool next to yours.

"He's fucking hot," Jimin says with no preamble, eyeing Jin without shame as the bartender starts to pour and mix different drinks. Jungkook makes a disgruntled noise but settles when Jimin pats him fondly on the butt. "I'm not surprised you're wearing those heels. I would too if I were you."

"Oh my God, Jimin." You hide your face in your hands. "Jin is just a friend, please don't make this weird."

"Come on, Y/n, it's okay," Jimin says reassuringly as he pats your shoulder, replacing Jin's touch with his own. "The blind dates might not have worked out, but you've met someone nice so that's good! I mean, you did meet him because I organised the date here in the first place, but I'll let that slide. Also I can't believe you missed movie night because of a boy and you didn't tell me, but I'll let that slide too because I love you."

Park Jimin is your best friend. Park Jimin meddles in your life despite your protestations and isn't beyond being passive aggressive to get his way, but Park Jimin is also one of the nicest people you know and everything he does is because he loves you and will do whatever he thinks is necessary to reach his end goal of making you happy. He's magnanimous and kind and caring, and he also has absolutely the wrong idea right now, clearly under the impression that you're attracted to Seokjin and have been flirting with him for however many weeks it's been since you were meant to meet Hoseok here.

"No, seriously, Jimin, it's not Jin." You look at Jimin through the gaps in your fingers. "He's cute, yeah, but I don't come here because of him."

Your friend looks genuinely baffled, hand stilling on your shoulder. "Then why are you here?"

And, with perfect timing— as if your life is some badly written film or romantic drama— the clock ticks over to 8pm and Yoongi steps onto the stage. His hair is dark, blond replaced with black a few weeks ago, though it's still long enough that it hangs in his eyes; he looks a little ragged around the edges, a little messy, a little tired, and altogether beautiful. You want to touch the coolness of your fingertips to the dark circles under his eyes, want to press kisses across each of his bony knuckles, want to let your tongue settle in the hollow of his neck that shows each time he leans back and tilts his head up just so.

You hadn't even meant to but you'd turned away from Jimin the second you'd heard piano notes begin to play, drawn in by the sound like a moth to a flame. Jimin's hand falls off your shoulder and you hear him breathe out a quiet oh of realisation. You tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi at the piano and turn on your stool to face the bar again, gripping your glass with both hands, shoulders hunched.

"I like to watch him play," you say, and your voice is near a whisper, so as not to detract from the music.

"It's beautiful," Jungkook says, speaking before Jimin can say anything. His voice is quiet, too, not wanting to break over the sound of the piano. 

And so you hear with absolute clarity as Yoongi shifts mid-song into something different and it startles you. Yoongi always varies his music, always has something new, but you've been here often enough that you had recognised the opening song— it was one of your favourites— and you know that he's cut himself off before finishing, soft melody jumping into the opening bars of something different, sharper, a little angry, maybe sorrowful. Something that pulls at you and demands your attention.

Of course you give it to him. You swing your head away from your drink to watch him once more, watch how his motions have changed, the way he surges forward and presses his weight into his arms and down into his hands, his fingertips, the keys. You turn your entire body at this point, settling in your usual position for when you watch Yoongi; you see how his head tilts and he shifts from a minor into a major key, the same notes and chords transformed from something pensive into something joyful as he leans away from the heavier hands he'd been forcing the keys down with.

"How long does this go on for?" Jimin asks.

"About thirty or forty minutes," you answer. Though you turn your head back over your shoulder so that Jimin can hear you, you keep your eyes fixed on Yoongi. It's probably entirely coincidental, the sudden change in his music coinciding with when you turned away from him and when you looked back. He's not playing for you, he's playing for the whole bar, and besides, he's been looking down at the piano the whole time. He hasn't been looking at you.

And yet. The idea that Yoongi has noticed you and wants you to watch him has something hot settling low in your belly.

Jimin leans forward so that his chin is on your shoulder, talking directly into your ear as his hands wrap around your waist from behind. "This is the guy?"

Yoongi finishes the song and you watch in captivation as he swallows and runs a hand through his hair before he starts the next one. He's never done that before. Fuck. "Yes. Yoongi's the guy."

"Do you wait until he's finished so you can speak with him?" Jimin asks, ever curious.

You pause. "No," you admit. "No, I've never actually spoken to him."

Jimin doesn't ask why you've been coming back to see a guy you don't know and haven't talked to. He just hums gently. Jimin is pushy but he's also understanding and empathetic and knows what to say, when to press forward and when to hold back. It's one of the reasons you love him so much.

Jimin lapses into silence as Yoongi starts the next piece. It's one you haven't heard before and it's a little fiercer than most of Yoongi's recent songs. Rather than each note sliding into the next, he hammers them out separately, each note a statement that builds into something larger, a provocation. A storm gathering above Yoongi's waters, threatening to pull you in, pull you under.

Behind you, you hear Jungkook and Jimin briefly murmuring to each other, then Jimin's hands slide from off your waist and you hear the sound of him shifting so that Jungkook can sit down, Jimin using his boyfriend's lap as a chair instead. You have to wonder if the barstools can actually support that kind of weight, but Jin doesn't come over to tell them off, so you figure it must be okay.

On stage, Yoongi's hands pause, an uncharacteristic caesura that breaks the flow of the notes he'd been stringing together before he resumes playing as if this hiccup had never occurred. To anyone else, it would sound like that break was meant to be there, but you know better. You know Yoongi had faltered.

No way.

No way?

He's paying attention to you.

(Oh, shit.)

No way.

You're suddenly so overwhelmed that you actually feel nauseous. You've been consumed with thoughts of Yoongi for weeks, had images of him playing you just as easily as he does that piano, thoughts of him laying you out bare beneath him, but the idea that Yoongi actually knows who you are? Is aware of you on some level? Wants your eyes on him?

Fuck. 

It's too much. 

You're already off kilter from Jimin and Jungkook's arrival— as harmless as their appearance was meant to be— and this is the cherry on top. You don't know if you can keep your composure right now and you need to get away from Yoongi before you end up walking onto the stage and pulling him off that stupid piano stool to show him exactly how much you enjoy his music.

"Jimin? Jungkook? How about you say we go to a club and get absolutely shitfaced?"

You haven't looked away from Yoongi in the time that you've said this, but you can just feel the confusion emanating from the men behind you.

"But you—"

"I thought—"

"We're already dressed up, aren't we? Besides, I still owe you for film night, so drinks are on me."

There's little argument from them after that. For the first time since you've been coming here you leave before Yoongi's set is done, slipping out of the bar without noticing Jin's confused gaze on you. 

It's not until much later, once you've drunkenly fallen onto Jimin and Jungkook's couch, that the sober part of your brain whispers to you: you didn't buy Yoongi his drink.

(That night you dream of stormy skies and tattered sails and a capsizing ship. Once you wake, the memory of the dream quickly leaves you, and the last thing you remember is the sight of someone reaching towards you, pulling you out of the water, skin pale and head ringed with blond hair, a halo— and then you forget that too, slipping through your fingers like quicksand.)

–

Of course you go back to Dionysus the next week. You make Jimin promise that he won't turn up without warning again, and then you make Jungkook promise that he'll at least send you a heads-up message if Jimin changes his mind. Despite both these promises, after the debacle last week with your outfit, you've actually bought new clothes, so at least today you don't feel as scandalous. (You still look hot, though.)

You're grateful when Jin doesn't press you for details or ask why you left early last week. He just greets you like he normally does and predicts your order with his usual aptitude, and as you stir your drink with your straw, you have to wonder at what happened. You're probably overreacting, overthinking things, grasping at nothing; there is not a chance in hell that Min Yoongi, reclusive piano savant, has noticed you. No way. Nuh-uh.

He's probably only aware of your existence because of the repeated drinks you've had Jin foist on him. If anything he's probably annoyed at you after not tipping him with last week— he's probably come to expect them by now and you'd forced him to miss out. Maybe you'll get Jin to give him two drinks this week? Ooh, then again, maybe not. Is two shots of whisky a lot? People drink doubles, don't they. How strong is the wine he likes, anyway?

Yoongi's appearance on stage pulls you out of your thoughts. He makes his way up the steps, towards the piano, scans the room— and then for the first time since you've been coming here to watch him, he stops.

He stops because he's looking at you.

It's only for the briefest moment, eyes resting on you for maybe five seconds, and then you breathlessly watch as his mouth twists into something that can only be described as a smirk, pleased at the sight of you.

Oh, God.

He looks away and sits at the piano like he normally does, but you would swear that his back is a little straighter— something in his posture that reads as cockiness, even. He launches into a song that starts light but then almost immediately dances into something flirtatious, seductive, and tonight whenever Yoongi glances at you, he makes sure that you know. He turns his head just so, looks at you through the curve of his lashes, each touch of those dark eyes against your own sending little shivers through you, punching the breath out of your lungs.

You've always been entranced by Yoongi and tonight is no different. The minutes slide by as easy as water, liquid, music gliding over you like the rising tide, kissing your skin like the ebb and flow of the waves. It feels like he's barely started when his set is over and he's finished, standing up with as little ostentation as always before he vanishes off the stage.

You already have the money counted out before Jin has made his way over. You slide it towards him as he pours the whisky, but rather than asking if you have a message to pass to Yoongi, a look of consternation passes over his face.

"The price has gone up," Jin says, and you blink.

"Oh, that's no problem. How much is it now?" You're reaching for your purse to get more money out when Jin puts the whisky on the bar in front of you.

"No, don't worry, I'll just go out back and get the right change for you," he says. He says it with such confidence that it takes you a beat too long to realise that what he's just said makes no sense— why is he getting you change if you haven't even given him enough money? Isn’t there change in the till?— but by this point he's already gone, the staff door swinging shut behind him. 

You tilt your head, beyond confused.

Someone chuckles from behind you, the sound quiet and low. "Ah, cute."

You twist in your seat to see who's talking and then freeze. Yoongi is standing right there, looking at you with his dark, dark eyes; it's the first time you've been subjected to the full intensity of his gaze, from this close, and your pulse picks up. He looks a little softer without the lights of the small stage throwing him into sharp relief but his aura is just as intense; your eyes dart across each feature of his face as you drink him in— the mess of his fringe hanging into his sharp eyes, the faintest freckle on his nose, his surprisingly cute cheeks, his pink mouth.

The mouth that's curving into a sly little smile, now, your eyes flying back up to meet his own.

"I'm guessing this is for me?" He points at the whisky. He takes it before you can answer, and there's something unfairly erotic about how he drinks it: the way he holds the glass, swirling the whisky over the chilled rocks inside; the way his mouth falls open as the tumbler touches his lips; the way his head tilts back as he lets the liquor flow into his mouth, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

You shamelessly watch him the whole time. He lowers the glass from his lips, still a little parted as he takes a breath in, and then he's looking back at you. You have to bite back a noise that's risen up in your throat, unbidden. Does he know how much he affects you? 

You adjust your position on the barstool, thoughtlessly uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you regain your balance. Yoongi's eyes fly down to watch the motion and you're close enough to him that you see how his pupils dilate at the movement. A breath escapes your mouth, a little pant of air that you desperately mask as a cough as you try to calm the racing of your heart, the flood of arousal that's pulsing through you.

"I'm glad you like the whisky," you say, your voice steady despite how your legs feel like they're about to give out. (Thank god you're sitting down.) "I'm sorry to have deprived you of it last week."

Yoongi's shifted so that he's leaning against the bar. He's standing while you're still sitting and you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "You did seem like you were in an awful hurry," he says, a teasing lilt to his tone, and yet his voice is still so low, deeper than you'd imagined.

Despite the levity in his words there's something heavy in his gaze. "Oh?" You can't help but react to it, helpless and unable to resist. "You noticed me leaving?"

Yoongi's eyes sharpen. Hooked. "Of course," he says. "You're the only thing I pay attention to when I'm here. You have been from the first night you walked in."

Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn't expected Yoongi to say something so forthright, to be so direct, more used to coy flirtation from the other people you've met in the past; it's like you've been dipped in cold water, a shock to the system, bracing and invigorating and refreshing.

"Oh," you say, at a loss with how to respond. Yoongi seems pleased to have gotten this reaction out of you, the corners of his lips curving upwards in a self satisfied smile.

"Besides," he adds, "I find it flattering that not only do you come here every week to watch me, you always make sure to make your appreciation known, too." He lifts the glass up and takes another drink, but this time he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he does, gaze unwavering as he finishes his drink. The rocks tumble over themselves as he sets the glass down on the bar, lower lip wet with a drop of whisky that lingers; his tongue sweeps across it and leaves a sheen, catching the light, shining. You can't tear your eyes away from the sight. "It would have been hard to ignore that even if I'd wanted to."

A shiver trickles down your spine. You'd really only ever meant it as a compliment, a quiet way to express your admiration about his craft, and you have to ask— "How long have you been playing the piano?"

This question seems to throw Yoongi off kilter. You see the way his lashes flutter as he blinks with surprise. "For as long as I can remember," he says, and then a small smile appears on his lips. "When I was young I had a toy piano that I constantly used to hammer at, so when I grew up a little, my parents bought the real thing so that I could learn how to play."

He sounds nostalgic and your heart squeezes in your chest. "You're self-taught, right?" You ask, remembering something Jin had told you before. 

Yoongi looks briefly startled. "Yes, I am," he says, and then his eyes narrow. "Did Jin tell you that?"

"Um, yeah." You squirm a little on the barstool. "Sorry, should I not have said anything about it?"

"No, no, you're okay. It's just that Jin says a lot of things, and I'm just wondering what else he said to you." Yoongi's tone is weirdly pained.

The concern is obvious on his face, and you wonder if Jin is to Yoongi what Jimin is to you— well-meaning but maybe a little overwhelming in their approach. 

"All good things, I promise. I love dogs, too." You smile up at Yoongi, who seems a little taken aback, and the smile starts to drop off your face. "Um. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." For all that Yoongi was smirking earlier, he seems a little unsure now. You feel confused, waiting as Yoongi clearly turns some thoughts over in his head, and then he says: "What exactly has Jin told you?"

You smile. You recognise that tone, the nonchalance that hides a little worry— it's exactly how you sound whenever you find out that Jimin has been speaking to someone about you, even if it's always positively. "Oh, just bits and pieces," you say. Feeling bold, you pat the barstool next to you, tilting your head invitingly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself instead so we can see if Jin was lying to me?"

Yoongi looks genuinely startled, his eyes widening imperceptibly before the expression wipes off his face as if nothing had happened. "Why not," he says, as if in equal parts to himself and to you, before he takes a seat.

Here's what you learn about Yoongi: he's intense, yes, and soft spoken, but as you continue to talk, he begins to loosen up, bit by bit. When he laughs he smiles so wide that his eyes squeeze shut and you can see his gums and you're so fucking endeared at the sight. He's sharp and smart and witty and just so, so intriguing. 

You prop your elbow on the bar and rest your cheek in your hand as he talks, wanting to take everything in, and you rapidly realise that Min Yoongi is less of an enigma than you'd thought, but just as complex as you'd expected— and you want to unravel that complexity. If he'll let you.

You've been talking for so long that the bar has started to empty out, patrons trickling away, the two of you so engrossed with each other that you barely notice. You find out that Jin and Yoongi are actually roommates, best friends, and that Jin is as chaotic as you'd expect and is also very good at drawing Yoongi into his shenanigans; you throw your head back to laugh at one of his stories, and when you catch your breath you find Yoongi looking at you, watching you with an expression on his face that makes you pause. He's been watching you intently all night, listening quietly whenever you talk, but this expression, this is new. He swallows.

"Can I ask something?"

You blink. "Sure, go ahead."

"Why did you keep coming back?" Yoongi asks, and that's not a question you'd been expecting at all.

"Uh," you say eloquently. "Well. Honestly? I couldn't stay away, I guess. I'm not really a musician, and I don't know a lot about the piano, but there's something in your music and the way you play— every song makes me feel something different and new, or reminds me of something I haven't felt, places I haven't been to, but I feel like I know somehow. Like I'm nostalgic for something that I haven't experienced, that doesn't exist. It's almost like you're taking my hand and showing me around some hidden part of the world that only you can see— like you've made it into music because that's the only way you can communicate it. How could I not come back after that?" You pause. "Um. Does that make sense? I feel like it didn't. Sorry?"

Yoongi's been watching you as you've been talking, silent, and by the time you've finished his mouth has fallen open a little. He stares at you for a few moments longer, and then he says: "Holy shit." And then he says: "Oh my God." And then he says: "What the fuck."

"… I guess it didn't make sense, then?" Despite the ease of your earlier conversation you suddenly feel awkward, laughing a little as your legs uncross so that you can shuffle to the edge of your barstool. Ready to hop up and make a quick get away if you need to. Run away from the embarrassment. "Um."

"Y/n," Yoongi says, and you realise with a start that you haven't introduced yourself to him throughout your whole conversation— Jin must have told him your name— but then he keeps talking. "I thought you just— I don't know, that you just kept coming back because of me. Not the music. Then Jin kept talking about you and—" 

He makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and runs a hand through his hair; you stare at his bared forehead, and it says about how attracted you are to him that the sight of his forehead is enough to set your heart racing. "I thought that maybe if I let this happen just one time that it would be enough, but now I don't think it will."

"Yoongi." You're confused, unsure if you've correctly understood what he's just said. "Let what happen one time? What are you talking about?"

"Touching you," Yoongi says. "Fucking you." His voice is a rasp and the sound of it, the sound of his words, shoots straight through you and into your core. "I thought the drinks were— I don't know, an invitation. But they weren't, were they? You really meant it. You really like my music. And me."

Yoongi's voice is hoarse and you come to the realisation that he feels tense. Like he can accept that you want to have sex with him, but he's bowled over by the idea that you're attracted to the other parts, too, as few of those as you know. That you genuinely enjoy what he plays. That you think it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

"Yoongi," you say, tone deceptively gentle. "I really, really like your music, and I think you're an incredibly talented musician, and I've been memorising everything Jin's been telling me about you because I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever come across and I'd really like to get to know more about you. So I'm really glad to have had the opportunity to talk to you like this." You gesture between the two of you, sitting as you are, facing towards each other on your barstools. And then you brace yourself to take the leap, to throw yourself into uncharted waters. "However, I am also insanely attracted to you and I've spent the past I-don't-know-how-many weeks picturing you bending me over that piano and fucking me so hard that I can't walk straight."

Yoongi freezes in the middle of rubbing the back of his neck, a clearly nervous habit. Though your voice has kept steady while you've been talking, your heart has been thrumming in your chest the whole time, feeling as nervous as Yoongi looks. Something flickers across his face, and his hand drops away from his neck as he straightens, pushing himself off from where he's been leaning against the bar.

"Oh?" He leans towards you. Your legs unthinkingly part as he moves, the material of your dress hitching up as you spread your knees so that he can get closer. "So you do want me to fuck you?"

His nervousness seems to be entirely gone, emboldened by your words. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair as he holds you in place, at his mercy. He's barely touched you but the feeling of contact makes you bite back a whimper. Even though it's darker here and you're away from the tables, away from the few remaining patrons of the bar, the two of you are in plain sight even under the dimmed lights; you're not doing anything illicit or inappropriate but a little thrill trickles down your spine at the idea.

"Yoongi," you breathe.

"What is it, babygirl?" He tips his head down as he moves closer, his nose brushing yours, each of his words a warm curl across your lips. "Tell me."

The pet name sends a shiver through you. Your hands rise from your lap, sliding over his chest to touch lightly at his neck, a little shy, a little bold. "I want you to kiss me."

"Oh?" Yoongi's mouth is so close to yours, and when you tilt forward to kiss him, he stays just out of your reach, leaving you wanting. "You think you deserve a kiss, do you?"

You can't help but make a little noise, a petulant whine at the back of your throat. He has you entirely at his mercy and he knows it. "Please," you say. "Please, Yoongi, wanna kiss you so bad."

The smile he gives you in reply is wicked. "How can I say no when you've asked so politely?"

Yoongi finally, finally dips his head down and then he's kissing you with such intensity it steals the breath out of you. It's open-mouthed and wet and dirty, his tongue sliding into your mouth in between taking your top and bottom lips between his own, alternating, sucking on them and lapping at them with his tongue. You chase after his mouth with your own, roll your tongues together, hands sliding over the smooth skin of his throat as they circle behind his neck, but then Yoongi pulls away; you bite that needy whine back again, kiss cut short far sooner than you would have liked.

Yoongi is taking the sight of you in, eyes lingering on your shining lips, and then he's rising to stand. You're shaken out of your kiss-induced haze when he does, a little confused, but he takes your hand in his and you let him lift up, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Do you want to get out of here?" His voice is pitched low, deep with a promise of pleasure to come, and you shiver.

"God, I thought you'd never ask," you say in a rush, and he just laughs quietly at your obvious desperation.

"Come on, then." He helps you off the barstool, your hand still in his— god, his hands are so big and his touch is so warm. His eyes are dark as he watches the way you reach to rearrange the hem of your dress with your free hand, but he beats you to it, palm flattening the material against your legs; his fingers dance just under the edge as he straightens it, hand sliding over the skin of your inner thigh and lingering before he pulls away.

"You're shameless," you say, a little breathless, and Yoongi just smirks at you. Tease.

Your fingers remain tangled with his as he leads you behind the bar and through the staff door. Jin's out back, scrolling through something on his phone, but as soon as you walk in he abandons whatever he's doing and raises his eyebrows. He looks surprisingly severe. "Customers aren't allowed back here."

Your eyes widen, but then Jin's serious expression cracks and he starts to laugh. Although he's joking and clearly doesn't care, you feel a little guilty at breaking the rules and duck behind Yoongi, shy. Yoongi snorts and holds a middle finger up at the bartender.

Jin gasps theatrically, clutching his chest while looking askance. "I raise you from birth and this is the thanks I get?"

"You're one year older than me, hyung."

"I carry you in my womb for nine months and birth you into this world and you— oh, okay, you technically shouldn't be doing that either," Jin says, stopping mid-sentence as Yoongi decides his hyung has been talking for too long and turns away from him to start kissing you again, shameless as he tugs you close to him and licks into your mouth; you immediately fall back into him, unable to resist. "Jesus Christ, Yoongi."

Once you part, you bury your head into Yoongi's chest as his arms come around you, hiding your embarrassment in Yoongi's dress shirt. "Sorry, Jinnie," you say, muffled.

"You are absolutely not to blame here, Y/n, you are an angel and a sweetheart." Jin's tone is soothing. "Yoongi, however, is a tiny evil gremlin who needs to learn how to control himself. Though I can't blame him, you are very cute."

"Hyung, I need the apartment tonight," Yoongi says without preamble. You wriggle in the circle of his arms. You're not normally this timid but Yoongi is just so direct and blasé with Jin that you can't help but feel a little shy, as hot and bothered as you are.

"I'll crash at Joon's," the bartender says. He’s obviously not surprised. You lift your head from Yoongi's chest to look at Jin and find that he's smiling at you. "If Yoongi starts to bother you, just whap him on the nose. I find a rolled up newspaper works best if you have one to hand."

"I'll kill you, Kim Seokjin," Yoongi says.

Jin just laughs as he waves the two of you off and you take the initiative to start pulling Yoongi towards the back door. He comes easily, but once the door has swung shut behind you he takes the lead again and guides you towards his car. He lets go of your hand so that he can unlock it, swinging the passenger door open for you, and he's unabashed in how he watches you step in and eyes the way your dress hitches up again as you slide into your seat; he leans against the car and just stares at you.

There's honestly nothing sexier when someone clearly wants you as much as you want them. It makes you feel bold, drunk on the way he looks at you. 

You glance up at him through your lashes. "The sooner we get to yours, the sooner you can have me," you say.

Yoongi curses under his breath. "You're going to be the death of me."

Surprisingly enough, though, he keeps his hands to himself when he gets behind the wheel. You can't help but feel a little surprised; you don't know how close Yoongi's home is to the bar, but you very rapidly tire of waiting to feel his hands on you again and so you lean over the centre console and press a fleeting kiss just behind his ear.

Yoongi doesn't outwardly react, continuing to stare at the road, so you take this as a challenge. You slide one of your hands onto his thigh— for balance, of course— and kiss behind his ear again, tug his lobe with your teeth, mindful of his piercings, and then proceed to trail little kisses down his neck and the little slither of his collarbone that you can reach without his shirt getting in the way. You finally get to lick your tongue in the hollow of his neck that you've been thinking about for weeks.

Yoongi's hands tighten on the steering wheel. Jackpot. 

"Y/n," he says, voice low, and you're so close to his throat that you can hear the rumble behind his words. You love it. "You should stop now, or we're not going to make it to my apartment."

You go still. Yoongi continues to look at the road but his knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping the wheel, and when you glance down you can see how much you've affected him, cock hardening in his slacks. It would be so easy to slide your hand up his thigh and finally touch him, have him pull over and wreck you, but you want something more than a quick fumble in the seat of a car. 

So you just press your lips lightly against the line of his jaw one last time. You let yourself breathe in the dark scent of his cologne— pinewood and pepper and something deeper— before you pull back, folding your hands in your lap demurely, trying to force yourself to be content with waiting.

"Good girl," Yoongi says. You can't help but preen; you don't normally respond to praise like this, but something about Yoongi just makes you want to please him, hear him compliment you again. Yoongi glances at you, a little flicker of realisation as he sees how you've just reacted to his words, and his eyes darken. "You like that, baby? Like being a good girl for me?"

Fuck. "Yes." Your pulse is rising. You've been craving Yoongi for weeks, but god, if he asked you to go home right now, sent you home without touching you, you'd go, just to hear him call you a good girl again. But you don't want him to leave you untouched, you don't want that at all. "I want you to touch me, Yoongi," you say. "I'll be a good girl, please just touch me."

"Fuck." Yoongi's foot presses down on the accelerator. He's never wanted to live closer to the bar before, but the sight of you staring at him from his passenger seat and rubbing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to give yourself some relief is making him rethink his housing location. "I will, baby. We'll be there soon."

Soon turns out to be less than five minutes, scarcely any time at all, though each second is torturous in how long it feels. Yoongi's careless in how he parks the car, wonky within the lines of his spot, but neither of you notice or care. You fumble with the buckle of your belt, climbing out of the car as quickly as you can and slamming the door shut with more power than you probably need to, noise loud in the quiet of the night.

Before you can react, however, Yoongi is rounding the car and grabbing you, pressing you against the metal and glass of the door. One of his hands slips under your thigh, lifting your leg and shoving the hem of your dress out of the way so that he can grind against you; you gasp at the feeling of his growing hardness against the dampness of your underwear, and Yoongi leans forward to swallow the sound into his mouth. 

The kiss is rushed and desperate, but you love the messiness of it. Yoongi pulls away to press his lips against the side of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, mouthing at the jumping pulse he finds there. You start to make small ah-ah noises when he laves his tongue over it, one of your hands tangling in his hair as you tilt your head back, each of his touches fizzing like electricity on your skin.

"P-people could see," you stutter, struggling to catch your breath with how good his mouth feels on you.

Yoongi smirks against your skin. "I thought you wanted me to touch you," he says, but immediately relents, pulling away from you so he can lead you into the building. You miss the heat of his body against yours but he keeps hold of your hand as you follow him; it's late and the building seems quiet, so you're mindful of just how loud your high heels sound as they clack on the floor, though Yoongi doesn't seem to care.

When you step into the apartment you reach down for the straps on your shoes so you can kick them off but Yoongi stops you with a hand to your shoulder. It's a light touch but you stop immediately, glancing up from your feet to his face.

"Let me," he says, and a hot trickle of arousal runs down your spine at the tone of his voice. 

You straighten up and watch as Yoongi gets down on one knee, hands circling around your ankle and lifting your foot. You rest the toe of your shoe lightly on Yoongi's knee, watching as he undoes the strap around your ankle and slides the shoe off, setting it to one side, before he presses his lips to the inside of your knee. You shiver at the light touch and Yoongi smirks, letting your ankle go so you can move and he can take your other shoe off, too.

He barely takes his eyes off your face the whole time, only glancing down when he has to. His motions are slow and unhurried despite his earlier rush, carefully setting the second shoe next to the first, and you can't help but feel like he's teasing you— drawing out your reactions just because he can. Before you can say anything about it, though, his hands trail up from your calves to your thigh before he hitches your leg over his shoulder, one hand staying on your thigh as the other grips at your hip.

You bite back a gasp. From his angle Yoongi can see everything and he's looking up with hooded eyes, staring at the dark patch on your underwear, wet for him; his gaze trails across the lace of the lingerie you're wearing, the small colourful flowers blooming across the dark material. It was something you'd put on to complete your outfit, the matching panties and bra making you feel expensive and pretty— even if you hadn't expected anyone to see it.

"Look at you," he says, hand lowering from your hip to trace lightly across your slit; it's a barely-there touch, sensation dulled by the material in the way, but you still jolt at the feeling of it. "Did you wear this for me?"

"Of course," you confess. You've wanted his eyes on you for so long. "Always dress up pretty for you."

"Fuck." He sounds reverent. "You've always been such a good girl for me, haven't you?"

A needy noise rises unbidden at the back of your throat when Yoongi spreads your leg wider and leans forward to mouth at you through the lace of your panties. Your knees go weak and you have to lean back against the wall for balance, grateful at how close you are to it when Yoongi draws his tongue upwards, wetting the fabric, your toes curling.

"Yoongi." One of your hands is resting in his hair and you can't stop your grip from tightening. "Yoongi, please."

He gives you what you want, fingers hooking into your underwear and pulling it down; he lets your leg drop so that you can step out of them, but as soon as you've finished he throws the panties to one side, one hand splaying across your stomach as the other lifts your leg again so that you’re spread open for him, immediately pressing his mouth to your clit.

"Oh!" You gasp. Yoongi seems to have tired of his teasing and is eating you out like a man starved, the slick sound of his tongue and lips filling the apartment as he laves attention on your dripping pussy, staring up at you as he drinks your reactions in. He dips his tongue into you and your hips try to buck forwards but the hand on your stomach holds you in place, firm, and you let out an embarrassingly loud keen at how good it feels to be this powerless.

You slap your free hand across your mouth and try to swallow the noise down. Yoongi frowns and stops, leaning his head back as he looks at you; his mouth is shining with evidence of your arousal, opalescent. "I want to hear you."

You bite your lip, forcing your hand away from your mouth; you don't want to be too loud, too noisy, but you want to be a good girl for Yoongi. He wants to hear you so you'll give him what he wants.

"O-okay," you breathe, and Yoongi smirks up at you; it's filthy, how he's looking at you like that while his lips are wet with you. You tilt your hips towards him, desperate to have his mouth on you again, and he immediately complies.

He's lapping at your clit when the hand on your stomach moves and slides down. You watch as he takes his tongue off you so that he can curl it around his fingers instead, before running those fingers across your lower lips to gather the slick there, wetting them even further. You roll your hips into the sensation, loving the press of his slightly rough fingers against your silken folds, wanting more, eyes wide as you watch how Yoongi's hand trails between your legs.

He puts his mouth back on your clit at the same time as he presses one of those spit slick fingers into you. You're so turned on that the initial slide in is easy, but he still takes his time; he's distracting you with the way he's sucking at your small bundle of nerves but you still feel when he presses his second finger in, longer than yours, the sensation of it even better than you'd dreamed.

He crooks his fingers and you throw your head back against the wall, dull thud barely registering over the sensation of Yoongi inside you. He sees how you react and continues to move his fingers in the same way, thrusting his fingers in and curling them as he pulls out, watching as you writhe; the pleasure inside you has been growing, the feeling building, and if Yoongi keeps doing that then you're going to cum. "I'm close," you gasp.

Yoongi responds to this by pushing a third finger inside you, rubbing his fingertips directly over your sweet spot. The stretch burns, just a little, but God, you love it. He purses his lips over your clit and flicks his tongue over it at the same time as he curls his fingers again and it undoes you; your spine arches away from the wall as you cum, ripples of pleasure sparking through your body as you tighten around Yoongi's fingers, sobbing almost deliriously at how good it feels.

Yoongi watches you the whole time, keeps his mouth on you as you ride out your high. He only moves away when you start to jolt from oversensitivity, pulling his fingers out carefully as he does. You feel empty without them inside you and you can't wait for him to fill you up with something better instead.

Yoongi holds you steady, his grip firm as you slip your leg from his shoulder and shakily push yourself off the wall. Once you've gotten your balance he stands up— his knees must hurt but he doesn't complain, too busy watching you lift his fingers to your lips, sucking them into your mouth so you can lick the taste of yourself off him.

"Jesus Christ." Yoongi stares at the way you flick your tongue across his skin, glancing at him coquettishly through your lashes. You reach out for him, hands moving towards his belt, but he shakes his head. "Bedroom," he says.

Of course you follow him. At any other time you'd be taking in the details of the apartment, the glimpses you get into the other rooms, but you're too busy looking at Yoongi to have a mind for anything else. He's been hard for so long by now that it must be driving him crazy and you want to give him what he wants. What he needs.

He swings a door open and flicks a light on. Yoongi's room is what you'd expected: neat and organised, with dark furnishings, the only mess being a few scrunched up balls of paper that have overflowed the trash-bin by his desk, which has a pile of notepads next to his laptop and a set up of musical equipment that looks far too complex for you to make heads or tails of. 

You forget about this instantly, however, when Yoongi captures your lips in another kiss, a hand splaying across your jaw so that he can control the pace, crowding you towards the bed until the back of your knees make contact with it and you fall onto the mattress. Yoongi cages you in with his arms and keeps kissing you, though when you palm him through his slacks he hisses through his teeth.

"Want you, Yoongi." You use your hand to stroke over the hardness of him as you nip at his lower lip. "Please."

"Fuck, of course, babygirl." Yoongi leans back and you move with him, sitting up as he stands straight. He unbuttons his shirt and you help him slide it off his shoulders, using it as an excuse to run your hands over the pale skin he reveals to you, sliding your palms down his chest and over his stomach; you dip your head to kiss where your hands have traced, letting your tongue flick across his skin. You lick shamelessly at one of his nipples and feel drunk on the way he lets out a surprised little breath, turning your head to do the same to his other nipple as your hands finally reach their goal: his belt.

You deftly unbuckle it, fast enough that the leather makes a snapping noise when you pull it, and Yoongi bites back a laugh— under normal circumstances you might be embarrassed by how obvious you're being, but you're desperate to finally touch him, especially after he'd made you cum as hard as he had. You look up at him as you reach for his zipper but falter when you notice that he's staring at you with something akin to awe, lifting your lips off his skin.

"What?" You ask, suddenly feeling shy.

Yoongi doesn't respond verbally. Instead, he quirks a little grin at you before he cups your face with both hands and bends down to kiss you again, deeper and slower than he has before. You match his pace, the two of you tilting your heads to get a little closer, but when you continue to pull Yoongi's zip down he laughs against your lips and you smile. He gets the hint, stepping back so he has room to kick his trousers and underwear off; he's not trying to be sensual about it, moving fast so he can get close to you again, but you're enraptured nonetheless.

You swallow at the sight of his cock when it’s finally freed. It's flushed red from neglect, fully hardened, curving up towards his stomach, and you can see how the head glistens with precum, slick and wet. Saliva floods your mouth. Yoongi looks briefly startled when you put your hands against his hips and lightly push him backwards, but then you slide off the bed and onto your knees in front of him and the shock immediately disappears from his face, tangling a hand in your hair as you settle in place.

He's so hard that you don't feel like teasing him. Instead, you take the precum that's gathered at the tip of his cock and rub it down his length, hand wrapping around and twisting as you dip forwards and take the flushed head into your mouth. You can't swallow him all the way down, thanks to your gag reflex, but you give it a damn good go— you relax your throat as much as you can as you lower your head, using your hand to touch the parts of his cock that aren't in your mouth. You tongue at the vein on the underside as you lift back up, using your free hand to cup his balls, and Yoongi curses, his hand tightening in your hair as he pulls you off.

You blink up at him in surprise, mouth still open after he's slid out of your mouth— you feel like you'd barely started— and you can see how his cock twitches as he drinks the sight of you in.

"That mouth of yours is downright sinful," he says, running his thumb over your lower lip. You go lax under his touch, which seems to please him. "As much as I'd like to cum down your throat, I think you want something else instead, don't you, babygirl?"

Your breath shudders out of you and you nod. You want Yoongi's cock inside you, itching for him to finally fuck you stupid, the way you've been yearning for so long. "God, yes, please."

Yoongi's lips twitch at your shameless desperation. "Stand up then, baby," he says, and you comply. "Turn around."

You turn towards the bed to show Yoongi your back, and he slowly unzips your dress; it slides off your shoulders easily, slipping down your body and pooling on the floor as Yoongi drags his hands over the revealed skin. You tremble under his touch, sensitive to each of his motions as he unclasps your bra, and finally you're entirely unclothed, lingerie carelessly tossed to one side before Yoongi pulls you close.

Your back is pressed to his chest, and you can feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against you, but you forget about that when his hands move to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. You tilt your head back against his shoulder and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck, using his tongue to lick down the bared length of it, and your breath hitches in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers, the perfect mix of careful roughness.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Yoongi breathes into the crook of your neck. You whimper and grind back against him, feeling the wetness of his cock as it slips against your skin, and he bites back a groan.

"Yoongi, I need you," you say, so close to finally getting what you've been craving for so long. "Please," you add, voice high with desperation.

You feel how Yoongi bares his teeth against your skin in a silent snarl before he's turning you around in his arms, and you squeal in surprise as he hitches you upwards onto the bed, your head falling onto the pillows. It wasn't a rough motion, Yoongi still careful even when he's clearly as hungry for you as you are for him, but you find yourself whimpering at how he's manhandled you, loving it. Seems like he's helping you discover things about yourself that you hadn't realised before now.

Yoongi settles between your legs, staring down at you, bare and helpless underneath him. You reach out your hand to touch his chest, sweeping your fingers down the line of his stomach and over the trail of dark hair that leads down to his weeping cock, still shining with your spit. He curses, leaning over you to paw at his nightstand drawer; he fumbles with the lube and condom when you wrap your fingers around his length again, stroking him hard and slow.

"Yoongi, please," you say again, practically begging, wanting him inside you as quickly as possible. He curses under his breath again but then wraps his fingers around yours, pulling your hand off his cock. You pout at him. "I've been a good girl, haven't I?"

"Good girls are patient." Yoongi leans back on his heels and you make a small whining noise, but you quieten when you watch him rip open the condom packet; you reach forward again to help him roll it down his cock, wanting to keep the feeling of his hardness and heat under your touch, but he fixes you with a stern gaze. "Hands."

You pause, wondering exactly what he means. You settle on pulling your hands away and stretch up to let them rest on the pillow above you. You must have done the right thing because Yoongi smiles, and you give a squirm of delight. He shifts closer and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss your inner ankle.

"So perfect," he says, and you squirm again, pleased. He reaches for the bottle of lube and uncaps it with a quiet click, drizzling it directly onto his cock and biting back a noise at the coldness of it— but then he squirts more into his hands, warming it between his fingers. You make a small questioning sound, and Yoongi smiles before kissing your ankle again. "This is for you, baby."

Your eyebrows raise in quiet surprise. You're already so wet, dripping with a mix of your own cum and Yoongi's lingering spit, but he's still being this careful and considerate. He dips his slick fingers between your flushed lips and draws them upwards, making you arch your back as he grazes over your pearl of nerves, pleasure shooting directly into your core. 

"Oh, fuck," you gasp. "God, please, Yoongi, please."

"I've got you, babygirl," he murmurs, and you marvel at his self control, his restraint even now. He grips your leg with one hand and uses the other to guide himself into you. Finally. You moan as he sinks in, stretching you, slowly pushing in inch by inch; you can feel the way your walls stretch, parting for him, until he's bottomed out, and you feel so full.

"Holy shit, Yoongi." You've moved your hands and you're digging your nails into his back, trying to pull him closer even though it's not possible, Yoongi's cock so long that you can feel it filling you completely. "Oh, God."

Yoongi's fringe is hanging in his eyes but you can see how his pupils have almost swallowed the dark of his irises, the way he's drinking in the sight of you beneath him— your pupils are blown too, hair a messy halo against the pillows, nipples hard from arousal, chest heaving as you hiccup in air. He pulls out, just as slowly as he'd pushed in, the drag of his cock against your inner walls sending electricity shooting through your nerves; he stops before he's completely out, only the head of him still inside you, and you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for the next slow thrust in.

You're completely blindsided when Yoongi snaps his hips forward suddenly, fucking sharply into you, and you choke on a surprised breath. He sets a brutal pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours almost drowned out by the way you wail. Your hands fall away from his back and to the sheets, fingers gripping at them, twisting under your hands. His brows are drawn together with focus, but when you raise a hand up to touch his face he goes easily, letting your leg slip off his shoulder so he can kiss you.

His motions slow somewhat as you kiss each other, but he keeps the roll of his hips just as deep, and you end up all but panting against his mouth instead of kissing him; he swipes his tongue across your lips and you let them fall open so he can lick into your mouth, sloppy and wet. You can feel an orgasm building again, surprisingly fast— especially as he's not even touching your clit— and you clench around him, wanting to hit that peak again.

Yoongi stops kissing you to rest his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he slows his thrusts, grinding into you each time he pushes all the way in, hips flush with yours. "Such a good girl." His voice is a low rasp, dark and heavy. "So pretty for me."

Yes, yes, yes. "Wanna be your good girl," you breathe. "Make you feel as good as you make me feel."

Yoongi actually growls, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you up. You grab his shoulders for support, legs spreading so that your knees hit the mattress, his cock still inside you as you look down at him, both of you kneeling now. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, stomachs flush, and Yoongi grinds up into you. His hands slide from your waist, to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you up; the change of angle has the curve of his cock dragging right across your sweet spot and you gasp. "Oh, yes, there, just like that."

You press down as Yoongi's hips snap up, and you can feel how his motions are starting to get a little jerkier, staccato, the way he speeds up. With the drag of your nipples against his chest, and the way he's hitting your g-spot dead on each time, you're close to hitting your peak, pleasure riding up into a crescendo— and then Yoongi slides one of his hands between the two of you to rub at your clit and you're gone again, gasping and shaking as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, all the air escaping your lungs in a drawn out, shuddering wail.

"Fuck, baby." Yoongi's motions grow a little more hurried and sloppy, thrusting up into you as your walls pulsate around him. You try to match his pace, drinking down the way his face twists as he chases his own release— and then his grip on you grows tight enough to bruise and he cums with a surprisingly quiet moan. He grinds upwards, his cock twitching inside you as he empties himself into the condom; you shiver at the sensation, squeezing your legs around his hips in an instinctive attempt to draw him as deeply into you as possible, as futile as that is.

Your legs are shaking. You remain tangled around each other, sweaty and panting, but then Yoongi is grasping your chin and tilting your head down so that he can kiss you. It's soft, and gentle, and you melt into it, going lax and boneless in his hold as you tighten your hands in his hair. 

You feel how he smiles tiredly against your lips, and when you pull back, he looks thoroughly fucked out; his hair is a mess from how you've been running your hands through it and lips are kiss swollen, parted so that he can suck air in and try to catch his breath. You must look similarly wrecked. You feel hazy, though Yoongi feels solid beneath you, grounding you as you slowly come back to yourself.

"I'm going to lean you back, beautiful," he says, and you entwine your fingers together behind his neck so that he can tilt you onto the mattress, careful and reverent. He slips his softening cock out of you and you let out a small sigh at the sudden feeling of emptiness, though as soon as he's done tying the condom off and throwing it in the bin he comes back to you, lightly kissing you as he draws a hand gently between the valley of your breasts. Despite the tenderness behind the motion you're suddenly struck with wondering if he's about to ask you to leave, but then he asks: "Do you want to come wash up?"

You pause. "Oh, God, my makeup," you say with sudden realisation as your fingers come up to touch under your eyes. Your eyeshadow and mascara must be a mess by now. You splay your hand across your face, as if trying to hide it— which you know is stupid, especially considering the fact the rest of your body is naked under Yoongi's gaze. He huffs out a laugh and takes your hands with his own, pulling them away. "Nooo," you whine. "Don't look at me."

One of Yoongi's eyebrows rises. "Why would I ever want to look away from you?"

You wriggle. "Yoongi," you whine again, equal parts pleased and embarrassed, but you let your hands go limp and Yoongi pulls you to your feet. "You're shameless."

"And you're gorgeous," he says, simply. "Come on, you'll get cold."

Yoongi lets you clean up first. It's weird how comfortable you are as you navigate your way around Yoongi and Jin's bathroom— you pilfer one of Jin's makeup wipes to clean your face— and how natural it feels to accept the shirt Yoongi gives you, an oversized, stretched-out old thing that's gone soft from years of wear. You're perched on the bathroom counter as you slide it on, glancing down at the design on the front, and you instantly perk up when you see what it is.

"You do love Kumamon," you say with delight. 

Yoongi stops in the middle of brushing his teeth, looking a little ridiculous with the minty froth around his lips but still just as kissable. He rinses his mouth and spits, wiping his lips with a towel before he makes a face at you.

"Jin told you about that, too?"

"I want to see your slippers," you say in reply and Yoongi groans. You can't help but giggle, feeling sleepy and soft and affectionate, and you touch your fingers under Yoongi's chin so that you can press a quick kiss to his lips. "I think it's cute."

By the time you've both finished your ablutions and you slide off the counter, you feel tired, what little energy you had after being fucked by Yoongi completely gone from you; you slide onto Yoongi's bed gratefully, glad to be off your feet. You hold your hands up and beckon for him to join you, but then let out a sharp laugh of surprise when he tugs his rumpled blanket off the bed from underneath you and lets it drop to the floor. "Yoongi!"

"I'll be right back," he says. While you wait, you decide to stretch, eyes slipping shut as you extend your limbs. You know you'll feel the ache between your legs tomorrow, a little thrill skating through you at the knowledge that Yoongi's touch has left a physical reminder, something only you can feel and no one else can see.

When your eyes flutter open again, you see Yoongi standing at the bottom of the bed, a different blanket gathered in his arms. He's staring at you, and you realise that the material of his shirt has moved as you've stretched, hitching up over your hips. Even though you're both tired, Yoongi's eyes still darken when you shift your legs, and you bask under his attention.

"A different blanket?" You ask, curious, and Yoongi's eyes slide away from your still-bare core back up to your face.

"It's Jin's," he says. "I wasn't about to let you sleep on sweaty sex sheets."

"I don't mind," you say, honestly, but Yoongi proceeds to lay Jin's blanket across the bed anyway. "Jin's not going to be happy about this," you add, but you say it with a laugh, instantly curling up into Yoongi when he lays down beside you.

"He'll live." Yoongi's arm comes around you, fingers trailing over your shoulder; you lapse into silence and let your eyes shut, focusing on Yoongi's movements. It feels like he’s pressing piano keys down and playing a silent song against your skin. You can't help but smile, starting to drift off, when Yoongi speaks again. "Let me take you out for breakfast."

"Hm?" Your eyes open and you blink away your sleepiness to look up at Yoongi, who's still watching you. "Breakfast?"

"Yes." Yoongi's fingers still on your shoulder, and then he slides his hand down to tangle your fingers with his. "Or lunch. Or dinner. Whichever you prefer." He pauses. "Unless you don't want to," he says, and though his voice stays steady, you see a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. He's worried that you've gotten what you want and now you'll be done with him.

"You're so silly," you say softly, and you can see how Yoongi's face twists with confusion, unsure about how to react to being called silly— you can't imagine many people have said that to him, as outwardly intimidating as he can be. You squeeze his hand. "Of course I want to. But how about we plan it tomorrow? I don't know how long it's going to take me to be comfortable with walking in a straight line, so breakfast might be off the cards for now."

After a moment, Yoongi's face takes on a satisfied expression. "That's what you said you wanted," he says, and you huff out an amused breath.

"I technically said I wanted you to bend me over a piano, actually," you point out, letting your head settle in the crook of his neck again, and Yoongi brushes his lips against your forehead.

"There's a piano in the living room," he states casually, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you, even as your eyes start to fall shut again.

"I'll keep that in mind."

–

jiminnie y/n!! tae said you called in sick for work? are you okay??

you i'm good! just a lil busy

jiminnie with what?

you [image attached]

jiminnie … why have you sent me a photo of a piano?

you yoongi's gonna fuck me on it omg on that note i've gtg BYE LOVE YOU MINNIE xoxoxo

jiminnie WHAT??? OMG??? GET THAT DICK QUEEN!!!

[hanii-rose]

Ello Ello~! Can I get a garou with a s/o that was kidnapped in the past and has trama now, but acts so chill that you wouldn’t even notice? It’s ok if you don’t want to lol ( fluff please tho- )

Truth

Garou × |Fem|Reader

You sat on the grassy ground of your backyard, knees bent to one side, looking over your garden. The large sun hat you wore casted a calming shadow onto your eyes, allowing you to pick at your tomatoes with ease without the harsh sunlight glaring into your retinas.

You hummed a faint tune, relaxed and uncaring about the world around you. Not that it had anything interesting going on anyway. Your ruffled, beige skirt gracefully fell onto the the ground over your calves, sprawling onto the grass around you.

You eagerly plucked a ripe, juicy tomato from one of the stems it hung from, placing it into the woven straw basket where many of your other freshly picked vegetables remained.

A gentle breeze brushed past, sweeping your hair off of your shoulders. You gently held onto your summer hat and continued picking the ripest vegetables your garden had to offer, unknowing of a certain someone watching your silent movements.

Out of the blue, a sudden shade had been cast on top of your seated form and for a minute, you believed it was a big raincloud blocking the sun due to the large size of it. When you tilted your head up to inspect the sky, you were met with the face of a boy, a scowl on his features, likely due to the summer heat.

He stood above you, shielding the sun's rays, silently observing your expression from calm to surprised to calm once again.

"The hell are ya' doin'?"

"I'm just gardening. What about you, stranger?"

The unfamiliar male picked at the tight collar of his sweater, trying to enable air to pass into it. He raised a brow, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple to his cheek. Blinking at him in confusion, you shrugged, replacing your blank look with a gentle, happy expression.

It was his turn to shrug, rubbing the back of his neck whilst peering over your newly finished picket fence.

"Just out for a walk, huh?"

He gave a single nod, eyes darting from yours to look to the side.

"Say, isn't it a bit too warm to be wearing such a heavy sweater?"

The scowl from his face dropped, and he turned back to you with a look of annoyance on his face.

"What's it to ya'?"

You turned back to your plush tomatoes, chuckling at his childish words.

"At least I ain't half naked like you!"

Half naked, huh? You wouldn't necessarily call wearing an off shoulder top being 'half-naked' but to a boy, things like that are probably way different...

"That's what a child would say..."

You muttered under your breath but it must've been loud enough for him to hear it. He stopped scratching his neck, eyebrows knitted in utter irritation.

"Haaahhh?"

Plucking a shiny, ripe tomato from it's stem, you tossed it at the man, to which he caught expertly with one hand.

You giggled, your expression sly.

"Here, you can have this. My tomatoes taste really good, try one..."

You looked up at him from below, allowing him to get a better look at your face that had been partially hidden due to your large straw hat.

Your pretty, glossed lips took the shape of an attractive grin, sun kissed cheeks gleaming as the sunshine reflected off of them. Beautiful hair swaying as another faint breeze blew over, somewhat lifting the ends of your loose skirt and ruffling your cotton top.

The scene appeared vivid and bright and the boy in front of you seemed to be taken aback by your appearance, his expression no longer that of annoyed or irked.

"Tomatoes ain't that good..."

He stated, stoic and calculative.

You stretched out your palm to him, offering to take the tomato back.

"You can give it back if you don't want it."

You peeked over at him with one eye closed, a smirk itching to take over your lips.

"I never said I ain't gonna eat it!"

Mhmmm, that's what you thought.

"Well stranger, now that I've given you a peace offering, how about you give me a name?"

He looked up at the sun, contemplating your request, ultimately deciding to tell you. It was the decent thing to do anyways...

"Name's Garou."

You nodded, beginning to fill your basket once again.

"I see, I see..."

He waited, leaning on your tall wooden fence, arms crossed, tapping his foot.

You said nothing.

"Well, aren't ya' gonna tell me yers'?!"

Snorting, you grabbed the tin watering can that sat beside you, not bothering to give him a glance.

"Whatever, I'm leavin'!"

He started to walk, straightening himself out and biting into the red, delectable tomato.

"Y/N."

He halted mid-step, craning his head and looking over his shoulder.

"My name is Y/N."

Without a word, he walked off, disappearing over the horizon. What a strange fellow...

🍅🍅🍅 >>

"Yo..."

You craned your neck, tearing your eyes off of the worded pages of the neighborhood newspaper. Your knee length, white dress slowly swayed as you came to a halt on your large, metal garden swing.

"Oh stranger, you again! Back for another tomato?"

Garou folded his arms, leaning on the thick steady metal legs of the swing set.

"Are ya' gonna give me another tomato?"

You shrugged, closing the newspaper and placing it down next to you.

"Sure, if you want. They're really good, right?"

"I've tasted better..."

Garou picked at his nails with a bored look, uninterested in small talk.

"Ok, either way, I'll get you one. How about you sit down here while you wait?"

You patted the empty spot next to you on the large swing but he passed, walking away.

"Now, hold on mister!"

"Oh, c'mon! Sit down while I bring you some vegetables and then we'll talk!"

Before he could walk too far, you latched onto his arm, taut biceps tightening at the feeling of your smaller, smooth limbs around his. Hugging it, you pressed it close to your chest, somewhat leaning into him, squishing up against him. Garou's eyes had widened in surprise at your actions and he tried wiggling out of your grasp but you were unrelenting.

What? Wait...what? Did you just invite him for some vegetable tea-time? Him? The Hero Hunter? Wait, did you just invite him to something? How long had it been since a pretty girl wiggled around his arm for a chance to talk to him?

"Fine."

Oh, right never... Well, since your being so persistent, why the fuck not?

You happily dragged him back to your swing, pushing his shoulders down until he sat comfortably on the seat, legs spread and arms resting on headrest.

"I'll be right back!"

Scurrying off, you carefully began plucking the ripest and juiciest tomatoes your garden could offer and bringing them back to Garou.

"Here, these are perfect for eating."

With that, you handed him a straw basket containing three tomatoes and sat down next to him, placing your fingers on your lap.

"So, how are you today?"

You began, trying to elicit small talk from him.

"...Uh, good?"

"Why are you so confused about it?"

You giggled, asking him about his answer.

"W-whatever! Why do ya' have so many tomatoes?"

You tilted your head to the side, thinking about his question.

"Hm? Oh, well I think they taste good..."

Garou gave you a look, as if saying 'that's it?'

"I also sell them to the local stores. I'm a dropout so I have to earn a living somehow, ya' know?"

"But I don't think he could defeat Goku "

Ah, that makes much more sense. Garou gave subtle nods as you rambled on about your interests, favourite books and the nice grocery man down the street who pays extra for your vegetables. But seriously, what's with you? You grab a random guy off of the street and just start talking to him? Who are you?

"Oh, Y/N! I was looking all over for you in your house dearie, I hope you don't mind, I took a look around..."

Huh, who's this?

A middle aged woman, stood in front of the two of you holding a little ceramic pot in her chubby hands, a mouthwatering aroma erupting from inside of it. Her eyes glanced at Garou but took a sharp turn to look back at you, curly brown bob bouncing as she ecstatically spoke.

"I brought you some cabbage stew. I know how much you like my cooking!"

"Oh, Ms. Keiko, you really didn't have to..."

Garou watched as she handed you the pot, chatting away without a care in the world.

"Oh it's no problem, sweetie!"

"No, no, I can't have you cooking for me everyday. I can do it myself, really..."

You exasperated, somewhat irked because of her interruption.

"What do you mean? Oh, you young people think you can do everything yourselves! Honestly, the government should really do something about people your age, especially people like you."

You rubbed your arm awkwardly, brows knitted and lips pulled into an uncomfortable smile.

"Well, I'd best be heading back now! You know how it is, busy busy!"

"I'll just go put this inside, don't go anywhere ok?"

You ushered her off, nodding at whatever she said until she waddled into her own house across the fence. You breathed out a sigh of relief, turning back to Garou to see him munching on a tomato, uninterested.

The sun had set halfway and Garou had heard enough of your meaningless chatter, heaving a big sigh, he stood up abruptly, popping some bones.

You quickly rushed into your home, setting the pot of stew onto your counter to let it cool off. Rushing back outside, you sat down beside Garou once again, and the two of you began to swing, continuing your pointless conversation.

"Hm? Leaving?"

He nodded, holding his last tomato in his dominant hand, and tilting his head towards your fence door, uttering a bored 'see ya' and leaving. You watched him exit, turning to the sidewalk, giving you one last glance and taking off.

---

The sun moved quickly and the once bright sky had turned dim, little drops of milk decorated the rare clear sky. The streetlights shined brightly, yellow glow illuminating everything within its vicinity. A gentle breeze had blown past and you slumped back in your seat, the squeaking of the swing coming to a halt. Reluctantly, you stretched and pushed yourself off, standing up and giving one last look at your backyard, walking inside your quaint home and shutting the door.

You tossed and turned on your bed, sweating profusely. Twisting your beautiful face into a pained expression, eyes shut tight in terror of your own thoughts. The nightmares of your past haunting you while you slumbered, unable to run, confined within your mind.

The rope burns.

The bruises.

The blood.

The tubes.

The thunder.

You weren't going to get much sleep tonight...

It was all so vivid and dark, and the feeling of suffocation creeped down along your throat, setting itself within your chest, as you heaved and shook. You awoke suddenly, nausea and fright overtaking your form as you trembled, beads of sweat rolling down your sides as you hugged yourself, trembling and disoriented.

🍅🍅🍅>>

Since the last visit from Garou, vegetable tea-time had become a common occurrence.

Garou trudged through the woods behind your house, nearing it slowly, hands pocketed, back arched.

The days only got hotter and Garou found himself sweltering under the sun's powerful rays, anticipating a fresh, juicy tomato from your garden. He would never admit it, but this month had been a somewhat therapeutic time for him. Every time he sent a hero to the hospital, he gave you a visit, sometimes prompt, sometimes prolonged.

All of the blood and injuries had been washed away and packed before that, he wanted to avoid any questions regarding his whereabouts. He feared if you saw his true colours, you'd stop being so sincere with him. A week ago you had proudly declared that you were friends now in your usual rambles and Garou wasn't willing to take any chances ruining it.

Free tomatoes with a cute girl? Yeah, no way in hell he's lettin' you find out who he is.

As he stepped closer and closer to your home, nearing the fence, he spotted you in your usual spot near your rich tomato plants, an unfamiliar girl standing in front of you, carrying two or three compact cardboard boxes.

Hiding behind the blooming cherry blossom trees behind your home, he gave an ear to your conversation.

"My dad only buys tomatoes from you because he takes pity on you."

"Of course, please tell your father I'm grateful."

"I'm not finished! Nobody from class misses you. We all think you're a freak!"

"I'm sorry you all feel that way..."

"The neighbors only talk to you because you're alone all the time."

"Yes, they're so kind..."

"I think it would've been better if you had just stayed missing!"

"Y-you should bring these boxes to your dad now. Tell him I added some extra in there, just to be safe."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Oh, you came today, good! How are you?"

With that, she turned around, her foot purposely on one of the adorable tomato sprouts, mashing it down with the heel of her white sneaker. After the baby-plant murderer left, Garou circled in, greeting you in a casual manner. You visibly brightened up and grasped his arm.

"S'all good... Say, who was that?"

Garou rubbed the back of his neck, brow quirked up, waiting for an answer.

"Remember the store owner I told you about the other day? That's his daughter. Cute, isn't she?"

Garou shrugged, perplexed. You seemed to like her and from the conversation, he could tell you knew her well.

"Hello, anyone in there?"

Then why was she speaking to you like that? And more importantly, what did she mean when she said you should've stayed missing? Was he missing something? Was there something he didn't know which everyone else did? Nah, you told him everything, it couldn't be that.

You waved your hand in front of his face, breaking him from his thoughts.

"W-wha..."

"I've been talking to you this entire time, what are you thinking so hard about?"

Poking his cheek repeatedly, you playfully provoked him and he swatted your hand away.

"Hurry up an' give me a tomato, lady..."

---

Sifting through the soil on the ground, you had found the perfect spot for re-planting that cute, crippled little tomato sprout that the store owner's daughter had squished. But holding it in place while simultaneously patting the soil down to fix it in was proving to be quite a challenge.

You needed some help.

"Oh, Garou~"

"Be a dear and help me with this? I promise I'll make it up to you!"

You sang, batting your lashes and twisting around to face him. He sat relaxing on the garden swing, chewing up a tomato you had given him. He looked at you, contemplating whether he should respond to your strange tone.

He glanced at you, then glanced at the half bitten vegetable in his hand. With one bite, it was gone. Rubbing his hands clean on his pants, he walked over to you, sqatting down to your level and holding the tiny plant in place as you stuffed it's space with rich soil and fertilizer.

"Thank you! You're such a big help."

Aren't you exaggerating just a bit, now? All he did was hold a plant while you did all the work. Nevertheless, your comment added to his ego and he swaggered back over to the swings, chomping down on another tomato, this time with a trail of juice running down his chin.

"Ah, it's dripping onto your beautiful sweater! Hold on..."

You stood up from your squatting position on the floor and took out a pink little handkerchief from your dress pocket. Adjusting your bucket hat, you patted Garou's chin, absorbing and wiping away any juice stains that may have clung to his skin.

"There, that's much better isn't it?"

"...Just like a child."

He nodded, cheek puffing out as he popped the rest of the tomato into his mouth, dirtying himself once again. You giggled to yourself, your fingers helping to muffle the noise.

He ignored you, poking his chin out for you to wipe again. You complied, of course.

Your day happily went by, without any interruptions.

All too soon, it was time for him to leave. The sun had fully set in the distance and the sky had once again been filled with glitter, sparkling in your eyes as you watched it together.

"I'm leavin'..."

You nodded, standing up and walking him to your fence door. Before he could fully step out, you pulled on his sweater with your index and thumb. He turned around slowly, facing you, confused at your foreign expression.

"Hm...?"

Your eyes fixed themselves down on your cobble walkway, trying to shelter your face from his observant eyes. Your free hand grasped and pulled on your skirt, nervously fidgeting in place. He could hear your heart pounding, hammering in your chest...or was it his?

The night had gone silent as you pulled him down lower, stepping up on your tippy toes and connecting a chaste kiss to his cheek.

He was left dumbfounded at your actions and you hesitantly released the fabric of his sweater, bringing it to your chest.

"I told I'd make it up to you, didn't I?"

The look on your face astounded him, leaving him stranded at your gate, as you dusted yourself off, looking up at him with a soft smile.

Garou blinked a couple of times, quickly shuffling to turn around, away from your stare.

"I d-didn't think ya' meant that..."

You looked away, embarrassed.

"W-well, I'll see you tomorrow."

He agreed, and you ran inside your home, standing near your doorway, looking at him walking away.

"Goodnight!"

You called from behind him and he waved with his back turned to you, getting farther and farther from you.

---

The cold air of the A/C hit your skin, calming you as you hugged your pillow close to your chest. Your eyes remained comfortably closed, happy thoughts streamed through your slumbering mind.

Tonight, you had slept soundly.

🍅🍅🍅>>

The booming crashes of thunder bellowed through the unusually quiet city as Garou sauntered past the glossy windows of the street, mindlessly observing the contents on the other side.

𝔹ℝ𝔼𝔸𝕂𝕀ℕ𝔾 ℕ𝔼𝕎𝕊: 𝕃𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕦𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕄 𝕜𝕚𝕕𝕟𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕟𝕕

Clothing, accessories, toys and electronics all looked the same to him as he carelessly made his way to you. The heavy rain drops made it harder for him to move, his sweater becoming drenched and heavy with water, his usual hairdo slumped forward, impairing his vision slightly. He came to an abrupt halt in front of the big TV store, eyeing the news displayed in bold letters on the screen.

He's reading slowly, focused on the faces of the two bastards on the screen.

...𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕧𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖

The images of innocent children flash by and somewhere in his cold, tattered heart he feels thankful for their safety. And then he sees it.

It was you. You, but...but, smaller. You...

Your picture. Dead expression, skin battered with bruises and scratches, large dirty cloth dangling off of your tiny shoulders. Innocent eyes, tearful.

Garou raced through the slippery streets of City M, the downpour only getting worse with every step he took. He could barely see in front of him, the streets had gotten so dark and hazy, the only thing ringing in his ears were the crashes of thunder that blew out through the atmosphere.

Finally!

Unimaginable winds collided with his form, pushing him back, street lights bursting, paper, signs and peices of wood dangerously flew around, nearly missing his body. He was almost there.

His harsh, observant eyes latched onto you, sitting on the floor, eyes tightly shut, your hands locked onto your ears, drowning out the frighteningly loud rolls of thunder. The lights seemed to be switched on, but no light was being emitted from them, leaving the room in a dark state. The power must have gone out.

He knocked on your door, holding onto one of the pillars of your home as to not get blown away. You hadn't responded. He knocked again. No response. Suddenly, a crash came from the inside, just as another boom of thunder shook the ground. He heard you shriek and without a second thought, followed the noise to your backyard, two large french windows open and banging against the walls outside. Climbing in, he grasped the handles, bringing them together and locking it securely, effectively closing it. The sounds outside had been muffled by the warm walls of your home and he turned around, studying the interior.

"Y/N."

He walked over, kneeling down to you, grasping your shoulder as gently as he could. Eyes softening at your face, tear stained and hurt.

"G-Garou, I "

"I-im sorry..."

Another flash of lightning flashed through your windows and you jumped onto Garou, latching onto his torso, face buried within his broad chest, cold and wet from the rain.

---

The storm had frizzled away rather slowly and all the while Garou had held you in his arms, silently, face hidden in your hair. You had cried and sniffled, ruining his already wet sweater with snot. As the rain came to a stable pace of hushed pitter patters, you finally released him from your hold.

You cleared your throat, standing up and rubbing your sides up and down.

"I don't know what came over me..."

Garou steadily rose from the ground, towering over you, face blank, staring at you intently.

"Y-you're here for some tomatoes, right?"

...

"No."

You shook slightly, he noticed. Wobbling backwards, you tripped, teetering downwards until Garou had stopped you mid-fall by your wrist. He pulled back, flinging you into his chest, wrapping an arm around your shuddering body.

"I'm here for the truth."

You but your lip, afraid of coming clean. You had his it for so long, you knew he'd feel bad if you told him now...

"I...um, are you sure?"

He nodded.

"Let me get you a towel first. You're cold..."

---

And so you had begun to explain your childhood. The happy days in the sun, at the park, holding your mom's hand and playing with your little friends.

Subsequently, this lead to many individuals wanting it for themselves or for research. The earliest memory of your childhood was the worst. The day you had been snatched from the warm protective embrace of your mother, into the confines of a cold metal room, fit with a heavy metal door. Tubes and needles poked your sides, dug into you skin, filling you with unknown substances, heightening your senses to the point where it hurt to exist.

You always had a fascination with plants, able to care for them and somehow make them grow quicker and healthier. At first, everyone thought it was your natural green thumb and caring nature but soon you had found out about a power no one else possessed. Growth manipulation. It wasn't just plants. Little animals and insects could be effected as well. Some thought you were a freak, others deemed you a lucky child, blessed with special powers gifted from the heavens.

You were often experimented on, put aside and brought back. It seemed to be a never-ending cycle of loneliness and isolation that kept you silenced. If you didn't comply with your tormentors, they'd tie you up, burning your soft baby flesh in the process, when it rained the lights would go out and thunder would cackle throughout the empty metal corridors, resonating through your small metal room, entering your tiny being. It was horrific, the bruises you received, the blood you shed and the years of your life which you lost.

Seven years. It took them seven years to find you and the rest of the children. You were rescued at last by elite forces storming the illegal research facility, the House of Evolution, more like the house of horrors.

You had been given hope but alas, your mother no longer lived in the same city, no longer cried for you to come back, no longer wanted anything to do with a girl such as yourself. At the tender age of fifteen, you re-entered society, ready to go to school, make friends, study, live. But when the time came, you found it difficult to fit in. Everyone was so mature, so stable and unhurt. It pained you to know no one understood your situation.

Whatever the other teens talked about, you would have a hard time understanding, you had no idea about any of the new trends, never held a smartphone in your life, never went shopping for clothes, never had a boyfriend and you certainly never anticipated anything other than pain. Emotions were hard to deal with in your early years but as time passed and you grew older, dropping out of school and going for therapy, you slowly figured your way around the world, while still staying in your own little universe.

Sometimes, things which occurred in more recent days triggered your painful memories, which triggered your anxiety, which triggered emotions that were unwanted. One of them being fright, like now. Garou listened intently, nodding and opening and closing his fists on his lap, understanding bits and pieces of how you felt. Clueless and naive, almost unwanted.

He sympathises, but still experienced some pain at the fact of your secrecy from him. Weren't you friends? Why didn't you tell him? He never would've guessed you had been through something like this. You acted so...so indifferent. You explained it normally. When people knew of your life, they could react in two ways. Sympathetic to the point where it becomes disgusting or being disgusted by you themselves. Garou was your friend, you didn't want either from him. You wanted genuine emotions from him. He understood again, much to your relief.

"Still, ya' could'a told me..."

"W-well, isn't there something you're not telling me, Garou?"

He gulped, his throat went dry. He scratched the back of his head, acting aloof. He shook his head no and crossed his arms, roughly leaning back onto your couch, looking anywhere but you.

"You're the Hero Hunter, right? I'm not as airheaded as you, I actually watch the news."

"Yeah, so? If ya' knew all this time, why didn't ya' say somethin'about it, huh?"

"Because you hadn't said anything. And I guess, I didn't want anything to change. I liked that you came around for tomatoes. It kind of sounds like I used you since everytime you were here, I felt normal."

"It was like going through therapy all over again. But better, with you... I didn't care what you did, what mattered was that you came back to listen to me and my nonsense...I liked it that way. That's why yesterday, I...."

You leaned into his side, your head falling gently onto his shoulder, your fingers intertwined on your lap. Garou uncrossed his arms, stretching and coyly placing one around you.

"Ya' wouldn't mind if I asked for a tomato, would ya'?"

"Of course not! Let me get you one..."

"No, ya' ain't gettin' it. I want one today..."

He sat up straight, gazing deep into your sparkling eyes, hand grasping yours to keep you from moving any farther.

"Tomorrow and...forever. Now do ya' get it? I wanna listen to you jabber on about how some stupid anime character can't beat another one, or how the ugly store guy gave ya' extra money for yer' plants. I liked it that way too..."

He rose from his seat on your couch, slithering an arm around your waist and inching closer to your face, noses brushing tenderly against one another.

"I'll give you all of the tomatoes I have...forever."

With that, the two of you sealed your lips in an act of pure passion. The kiss was innocent and sweet, and it left a warm feeling burning in your chest.

"You should see the look on yer' face."

Garou whispered and you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck, fondly eyeing his features.

"Do you want a tomato or not?"

Raw sunlight streamed through your large, pristine windows, illuminating the two of you where you stood. If anyone had witnessed the scene, they would surely deem it ethereal. You felt that way and so did he.

"You're blushing, Garou~"

"Sh-shut up and gimme a tomato, woman!"

In a strange little way, you matched each other, supported one another and existed together, through your highs and lows, through his ups and downs. Suddenly, everything was brighter and easier. You went back to school, working hard, having the courage to do anything you wanted.

Garou found a resolve as well, he left for sometime, but returned to you in one piece, took up a job and continued living. This was not how you had imagined your future to be, but it was this situation that gave you a reason to finally live life the right way. You finally felt happy to be free. And that was more than enough for you. Garou was here, and you were right there with him.

_________________________________________

The fluff at the end BLEHHH too sweet for me. Also, I feel like the ending is so rushed??? Sorry this took months to finish. I was stuck in a prison known as math and had no way of escaping. Hope you enjoyed!

[capt-spooki3]

Sunsets Never Felt The Same...

Pairing: c!Wilbur Soot x Reader

Warnings: Angst. There will be feels in this, just wait for it. BUT THERE IS A LOT OF FLUFF TOO

After a long day, Wilbur gets to watch the sunset with his favorite person though neither of them knew how that day would change them forever...

2.5k words

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The soft padding of footsteps sounded on the chilled stone walkways that connected a few of the small houses in L’manburg. Even with the promise of war on the horizon and dangerous tension in the air, the evening is quiet, the only noises being the hoot of an owl or frogs down by the waters near the homes. Despite all that hung in the balance, it felt peaceful. The evening giving a false sense of things being perfectly fine.

Wilbur strode over the stone, his L’manburg suit being retired for the evening and replaced with a dark shirt and pants though he neglected to put on shoes. It seemed unnecessary as it wasn’t like he was walking a mile. Though with contacts out for the night, he made sure to grab his glasses.

He took a deep breath in, taking in the refreshing night air, and sighed. A smile crossed his lips and he chuckled, looking aside to the horizon that was painted with soft colors. Blues and pinks fading into purple around the setting sun while the rest of the sky was a deep and dark blue, littered with thousands of stars that were becoming more and more vibrant as the seconds ticked on and the sky darkened evermore.

“Oh, hey Wilbur.” A quiet voice spoke, catching his attention as he looked over. Just the person he was on a mission to see. Y/n sat on the top step of their small porch, dressed in a hoodie a size or two too big and shorts. It was a nice night for late September so he couldn’t really blame them for that choice. “What are you doing wanderin’ around?”

“I just so happened to be seeking some company,” He tilted his head quizzically at them, holding his hands loosely behind his back. “Mind if I sit?”

They perked up and scooted to the side from the middle of the step and patted the wood beside them. “Of course, come on.”

He walked over, climbing a couple of stairs before taking a seat on the other side of the step, making sure to give them room even with the urge in him to sit closer. Even if it was just a couple of inches.

“It’s a nice night, perfect for watching the sun set I'd say. It won’t be long till I have to start bringing a blanket out with me though.” They giggled, seeming excited to do so instead of seeing the extra work as a burden. Wilbur looked at them as they gazed at the sky, his heart-melting with their giggle and own gaze softening just looking at them. The way the evening light from the setting sun bathed their skin oh so gently. The only better sight is seeing them in the early morning glow, never had he thought he could describe someone as ethereal before, but it was truly amazing how captivating it made them look.

“Will?” He turned away right as they looked at him, cheeks warming with slight embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry I guess I zoned out. Were you talking?” He glanced at them again, meeting their curious eyes for a moment before looking back to the now purple sky surrounding the nearly fully set sun.

“I just asked if you were okay. I can imagine you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Even not being your right-hand man in this war, I know it weighs a lot on the mind even as a soldier.” They said with a cute sort of fondness mixed with worry.

“You’ve got the right idea that’s for sure.” He let out a breathy laugh, turning to them. “It has been rough, I will be honest with you. I haven’t been the best but…” He trailed off, their gazes were locked. The world seemed unreal around them, every issue in his life left his mind as he let all of his focus revolve around the lovely person by his side. Even as they shifted nervously with his eyes on them for so long and their cheeks reddening a tad, he felt more at ease than he had in months. “Right now, I feel on top of the world.”

Y/n laughed, they were so easy to fluster it seemed. 

“You really are one for the dramatics aren’t you Wilby.” Their eyes lingered on him a bit longer as they started to change their position, moving a bit closer to him as they pulled their legs up to their chest and looked at the stars that had started to litter the sky in front of them in place of the sun.

He was about to shoot them a response, till he heard distance honking and looked to the other end of the sky, barely making out a flock of geese. Silence fell over both of them as they listened to the nostalgic calls of the birds overhead that filled the two with a deep sense of calm.

The peacefulness of the moment they were sharing felt almost romantic, something you couldn’t experience with just anyone, and right now he, at least, wished to spend it with only them. Silent wishes filled his thoughts that they felt the same.

“Yeah? Well maybe I am… you sure seem to like it though, so I would say that’s okay.” His voice held a teasing note in it and he leaned back to rest his hands on the porch behind him, taking in and letting out a deep breath.

“I think you’re really lovely-”

“I like you a lot Wilbur-”

The two said at the same time, looking at each other in surprise before Y/n couldn’t contain their laughter, and Wilbur quickly followed after in a spurt of laughter. It took a few moments for them to calm down and catch their breaths to which, with a few giggles in between some of their words, started up again.

“Okay okay- I’m sorry, you go first.”

“I-” He giggled a bit, “I, I think you’re very lovely.” He said wholeheartedly, looking at him with a smile, and pointed to them to tell them to go next.

“Okay… I like you a lot… Wilbur.” They got out, shyly, growing visibly nervous as they fiddled with their hands and letting their gaze float around. Gods did he truly adore them and hearing that filled him with bittersweet happiness.

You see, Sally hadn’t been gone long, so confessions of love always brought him back to moments of her. He shook the thought from his head, he shouldn’t dwell on someone who wasn’t going to return to him and he knew she would want him to do this. 

For himself. For his happiness, no matter how short-lived it might be.

“Would it be too straightforward to tell you I was deeply in love with you? That I see you as the bright and forever shining sun in the sky? That to me, looking into your eyes has felt more magical than anything this crazy world had provided or thrown our way?” Wilbur shifted his body toward them, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees.

“What if I told you that nearly every waking moment since I realized my own infatuation, I have thought about you. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve screwed up because I was so wrapped up in my thoughts. Oh god and the hours at night that all I want is to get up and walk to your door and just hug you. Wrap you in my arms and never let you go.” He sighed, chuckling a little at Y/n’s baffled expression, and smiled. Wilbur reached out and ran the back of his fingers over their cheek and moved a little bit of hair behind their ear.

“That wouldn’t be… too straight forward would it?” He whispered, treasuring the way their head tilted toward where his hand was lingering before they reached up to press his palm to their cheek and gaze at him with a loving look that just turned him into an absolutely lovesick fool for them.

“No… I don’t think so. I think you said just the right words.” Their words clung to him, immediately replaying themselves over and over in his mind.

He moved closer to them so his leg was touching theirs as they were now crossed and facing him. Leaning himself forward, watching them as they watched him right back, but he scrunched his face up a little. Wilbur reached up and pulled his glasses off his face, now that they were so close he wanted to really look at them and see their face without needing help from contacts or lenses. He let them spill out of his hand to the wood beside him.

“You wouldn’t...mind if I kissed you right now, would you?” Y/n whispered.

“God, please do.”

They giggled at his quick response, taking their hand off his and in return cupping his face to which he moved his hand to their upper arm, holding his breath in anticipation with his eyes closed. But they didn’t move. He opened his eyes to see them smiling at him like he was a little kitten.

“W-What?”

“You are so cute.” They said before closing the distance and pressing a sweet kiss against his lips to which he kissed back eagerly. This sweet form of intimacy was one he missed most of all after losing Sally. He never imagined being able to feel something like this for a long time, the moment they kissed him though, he could feel all tension just fall from his body as he melted into them. His arms wrapped down around their waist and they moved on hand from his cheek to put around his neck.

Wilbur didn’t want to admit it, but finally feeling this comfort and affection after bottling up so many feelings day after day, it seemed to really get to him as he felt a tear roll down his cheek and Y/n pulled away quickly to look at him, obviously concerned.

“Will are you okay? What’s wro-”

“I’m okay… I-I’m… this is just so nice.”

“Aw...Will…” Y/n wiped away the tear with their thumb, making him chuckle a little and he kissed them again, letting the entirety of them fill his senses. The moment felt so perfect, like nothing in the world could ruin it.

“Pfft- eyy get a room, Wilbur!!” Tommy’s voice rang out causing Wilbur to pull away and look toward the voice. 

It seemed Tommy and Tubbo wanted to take a late-night walk. 

He felt his face heat up in embarrassment and Y/n bury their face in his chest, seemingly just as embarrassed

“T-Tommy- man what the hell?!” Tommy cackled and leaned over, whispering something to Tubbo and gesturing over to the two, making Tubbo laugh. 

“Hey have a good night, don’t keep them up too late tonight!” Tommy teased right before the two picked up their pace, running off. He was going to shout something at him but decided to let him go with just an unamused sigh.

Y/n giggled though at the boys and he looked down to look at them to which they wrapped their arms around him.

“It is kinda late you know.”

“Oh- right I’m sorry you're probably tired. I’ll go okay?” He spoke softly and they let go of him to look at him.

“Actually… could you stay?”

Wilbur went silent for a few moments before smiling. “Now that is pretty forward.” He teased, referencing his earlier words, and they immediately flushed a bit.

“N-No no I didn’t mean- no i just…” They trailed off, too embarrassed to continue and he just chuckled, kissing their forehead.

“I know, it’s okay sunshine. I’ll stay for tonight if it'll make you happy.” He reached over to where he haphazardly dumped his glasses on the porch beside him. “Y/n… I hope you know that I love you so much. You really are incredible.”

~~

“Wilbur!” Y/n yelled at him, catching him right as he jumped down from the wall at the lowest point. He didn’t expect anyone to see him especially with the commotion going on inside.

“You need to go, I have places to be.” Being so cold to them hurt, but he didn’t have time to be nice.

“Will…” They cried and stepped toward him, his face softened and he smiled. He laughed. His shoulders shook and he lowered his head, hands in his pockets.

He removed his hands and strode toward Y/n with a walk and pace that made them back up, but not fast enough to get away from him as he was already right in front of them. He left nearly no space as his gloved hands cupped their cheeks firmly, but still with a fond gentleness. A slow, excited, shaky breath left his lips and he laughed softly before he took a deep breath. His eyes met their’s, the sweetness was there but the crazed glint was evident and the sight made them tense up.

“I know no one else saw this coming and to everyone else, what is to come may be considered a tragedy, but darling,

My sun,

My beautiful sunflower among fields of roses,

This was the fate of this country. This was my destiny.”

He glanced toward the walls as a firework shot, screams for Tubbo following after and Y/n watched in fear, but he turned their face back toward him. He pulled their face to him, though the action was gentle, and he pressed his lips to theirs. Tears spilled over their cheeks and upon feeling them on his hands he pulled away just to get pulled right back by them. It was almost as they were desperately trying to block out the cries and shouts by kissing him.

Wilbur forced himself away, needing to get to the final control room, and stared at them with their vulnerable expression.

“Don’t mourn me, my love, don’t cry. This is how the world was bound to end up so don’t wish for a different future.

I do not regret any of my decisions leading up to this point." He sounded excited.

"Even now, my marvelous star, I do not feel the wish to redo a single action of mine that made this future possible.

I need you to live your life and live it well. Know I will be with you in spirit, I will never be gone so do not miss me.”

With a final kiss and a message whispered in their ear, he was gone.

~~

Y/n didn't dare move from the spot Wilbur abandoned them in. Fear froze them for they didn't know what he had planned. Many minutes passed before the first explosion rang out. 

They stood, facing the wall of their country, the one they fought so hard to defend, as the TNT blasted rubble and dust their way while all they could do was watch. They fell to their knees, being shown the remnants of their precious country as Wilbur’s whispered words rang clear in their mind again. The tears spilled down their cheeks endlessly, not wanting to believe what he had done.

“Just enjoy the show, darling, as it is for you.”

It seemed he really was the dramatic type...

[rodeo-boots]

omg u opened ur requests!!! may i please get some flaco x reader smut? any gender for the reader :^) thank you <3

it's been an absolute pleasure to write for Flaco, and I hope you'll enjoy it!! I picked a gender-neutral reader for this one :')

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1844

AO3

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Snowflakes whirled behind you as the heavy door to the cabin fell closed, your eyes needing a couple blinks until they had fully adjusted to the darkness within. You released a deep breath, one you hadn't noticed you've held in the first place, dropping the bag with the take to the floor.

"Back already?" The voice permeated through the shadows, a deep tenor that had your little hairs stand on edge. Flaco hadn't moved from his spot, huddled in the corner of his cabin, tucked away where the worst of the wind wouldn't reach him. His hat hid his eyes well, the glass upon the table indicating what he'd been doing during your absence.

You pulled the gloves off your hands, stuffing them into the deep pockets of your coat. "Wasn't hard," you answered, remembering the fright in the traveler's eyes, their readiness to give you all they had at the point of your gun. It left you feeling on clouds, the rush of adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin.

And maybe you had ridden a little harder than needed. Maybe the prospect of seeing Flaco as soon as possible had driven you more than you cared to admit.

The man stood, floorboards creaking under his heavy boots as he moved closer, picking the bag off the ground to inspect the valuables within. He whistled, weighing his head in a satisfied fashion. "You've done well." His praise got to you as it always did, made the exhaustion and strain dissipate right off your shoulders. After a job done well, there was nothing else you needed than some validation, and Flaco had always been one to supply.

"What're you thinkin' about?" He had caught onto your silence, reaching for your chin to tilt it upwards, dark eyes meeting your own. The bag in his hands seemed forgotten, carelessly dropped again while the contents within clanked and jingled.

Your lips quirked up into a sly smile, the apples of your cheeks cold like your nose. "I'm thinking 'bout my reward," you answered, your hands easily finding their way to his upper arms, fingers digging into the thickness of his coat. He knew how to dress accordingly, seemingly never running into trouble to stay warm – though this man was a furnace all by himself.

His warm breath hit your face, your eyes fluttering shut in expectancy of a kiss. The next gust of hot air left him as a chuckle, however, Flaco reaching up to take the hat off your head and place it aside. "All in due time," he muttered, removing his own next to join yours.

You would never complain about sharing a drink and a talk, about basking in the company of the older gunslinger. He was more to you than a source of income, than a partner in crime. His tips were helpful, sure, but even if he didn't have a job for you, you'd still seek him out at the end of the day. Because no matter what you gave him, the attention and companionship you were more than happy to offer, he would always return it tenfold.

Up here, you were his alone, and you would always know to cherish that.

Teasing never lasted long between you, Flaco being as unwilling to waste his time as you were, straight-forward in more ways than one. Where you had made the first step initially, he preferred taking the lead from there-on out, but who were you to complain?

"That's it." He hadn't waited long after denying your first kiss, had crowded you back against the wall to work on your coat, your own hands mirroring the actions of his. His lips were on your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive and cool skin, your breath hitching when he sucked down over your pulse.

The whiskey on his breath was undeniable, but it was just another part of him, another addition to the intoxication man you couldn't get enough of.

You wanted to touch him, pushing at the heavy coat around his shoulders, fingertips raking up the nape of his neck to slip into his hair. There were too many possible places for your hands to be, a small frustrated noise slipping past your lips when you couldn't feel everything all at once.

Flaco tossed his coat to the floor eventually, not minding the dust and the dirt you had dragged inside, the snow now molten and leaving muddy puddles behind. It all didn't matter to him, nor did it to you, both your minds entirely encaptured with the press of one pair of lips against another, Flaco finally giving you what you'd yearned for ever since stepping into the cabin.

"Let's move this to the bed," you muttered, hands lowering to work on the man's belt, impatiently pulling the leather from it's loops. You palmed him through his trousers, got a good grip on him just to squeeze, sighing at the familiar weight of his heavy cock behind the fabric.

He bit back a curse, muffled his voice in the crook of your neck. By the time you had freed his cock, he was getting ready to speak again. "Why should we?" He asked low and deep, kissing the magical spot behind your ear before briefly nibbling on your earlobe. "If I can take you right here?"

That sent a shiver down your spine, the excitement within you welling up and doubling in intensity, your nod too quick and needy to be brushed off. "Please–" But you didn't get farther than that, Flaco's lips returning to your neck as his fingers slipped under your shirt, warm palms roaming cool skin, eliciting goosebumps and a soft moan from your throat.

He caressed you like you were some treasure, leaving not an inch of skin untouched as he gave your body all the attention it could ever need. While you had loosely stroked his cock all this time, he only gradually began to open your pants now, encouraging you to step out of the fabric before pressing you back against the wall.

You whimpered when your tender skin met the cold air, your arousal bared for Flaco to see. There was no shame in it, however, not when the man in front of you looked like he was ready to consume you entirely.

"Wrap your legs 'round me," he directed, still clad with only his flushed cock on display, standing proud and erected while droplets of pre-cum already rolled off the tip. He held onto you, lifting you in time with your legs finding their designated spot. "Good?" Flaco searched your face for signs of discomfort, humming at the nod of your head.

His fingers dipped low, finding their target right away as he focused on your sex, giving you a taste of the pleasure he would soon allow you to feel. You gasped at the first touch, hips inching closer to his hand, no matter how much you were locked in place by the position.

"C'mon," the tone of your voice was more of a plea than a demand, every part of you aching for more – for everything Flaco would give you. "N-Need you inside," you muttered, your head lolling back at his continuous but slow caress, of the stimulation that barely fell short of being enough.

He hummed again, leaning in to soothe you with a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to distract you from the finger entering you. "F-Fuck-" your walls clenched around the intrusion, slowly relaxing when Flaco started to work you open. He added one more finger and another, preparing you thoroughly for what was to come, the sensation of his hard cock against your skin reminding you just how dearly you needed to be stretched beforehand.

You whined when his fingers grazed the tender spot inside of you, instantaneously canting your hips to chase that delightful pressure. But Flaco didn't want you to come without him, pulling his fingers out to replace them with his cock, pushing in steadily to let you adjust to his size.

"Doin' so well," he grunted, resting his forehead against your own when he bottomed out, holding onto the back of your thighs with his balls pressing against your sensitive skin.

He breathed deeply, getting used to the heat and tightness of your walls, gyrating his hips experimentally to watch your response. When all you showed him was unbridled pleasure and need, however, he knew that he had no more reason to hold back.

Your back dug into the wall behind yourself, hands clutching Flaco's shoulders for dear life, holding on as he started to move his hips. He didn't start out slow, didn't build up any more than he already had, his cock dragging out only to be pushed back inside, balls smacking against your skin the more he repeated the action.

The breath was knocked from your lungs just like that, the man's cock hitting all the right spots inside of you, filling you in the exact way you needed. You couldn't hold back the noises from your throat, couldn't withhold anything as you tossed your head back again, eyes fluttering from the sudden rush of pleasure.

Flaco wasn't one to be overly vocal, none to scream his lust into the world for all to hear. But right now, he seemed as lost in his ardor as you were, grunting and groaning, staring at your face to miss none of the expressions that passed over it. "Eyes on me," he demanded, momentarily slowing to reach up and tilt your chin to him, locking your gazes as he continued to fuck you.

You didn't feel cold any longer, didn't feel much else than his cock moving inside of you, the rocking motions that pressed you closer to the wall with each passing moment. The pleasure had built within you all this time, first at the anticipation and now the pay-off, your head spinning while you inched closer and closer to the edge.

Flaco caught on to your impending fulfillment, dutifully reaching down between your legs to stroke you to completion, his fingers dancing over you with practiced ease. "Go on, I'll follow" he buried his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his own sounds of enjoyment, the vibrations of his voice driving you off the wall and into your orgasm.

You came with a sharp moan of Flaco's name, the taste of it still upon your tongue as your pulsing walls made him lose himself inside of you. His hips gave a couple more jerks, breathless curses filtering through to your clouded brain. He still held you in his arms, only slowly letting go of your legs to let you place them on the ground again.

His spent dripped down your thighs after his softening cock had left you, your muscles trembling but pleasantly warm.

"Now, we can move to the bed," he spoke up, his voice a little hoarse and rough, but you loved it either way. After all, you couldn't get enough of everything this infamous gunslinger was.

[novelconcepts]

omg can you do a print of damie in canon just interacting with flora bc i would love that

She’s lost Flora. 

There is, Dani thinks with the forced calm of one already beginning to spiral, little cause to panic. The house is big, but it’s not that big--and Flora is a good kid. She’s not exactly prone to just wandering off. She certainly wouldn’t, say, vanish from sight and reappear somewhere unexpected, suddenly acting like she didn’t entirely remember the time in between.

That doesn’t sound like Flora at all.

She isn’t running, per se, from room to room. Running would suggest there is a problem to be handled, and if she starts thinking along those lines--if she starts obsessing about Flora’s distinctly off-putting way of gazing over her shoulder, of saying things just a little too odd to be hand-waved away, of looking at Dani as though she can see straight through her to the unease thrumming under the surface--well. That way lies nothing useful. Nothing at all.

“Have you seen Flora?” The kitchen had seemed a good bet. Here, after all, is Owen, puttering away over the ingredients for the evening’s meal, his mood somber as he uses the manor to avoid reflecting on his mother’s upcoming funeral. Here is Hannah, dutifully rearranging the china, pretending not to steal glances at Owen’s lanky frame every few seconds. That spot at the table is made for Flora, little legs hanging off the chair, brimming with questions--

But Flora isn’t there, and Owen is shaking his head. 

“Not since lunch. Lost her, have you?”

No, she almost snaps. A count of three, a long-held breath; she smiles tightly, reminding herself that this is not Owen’s fault, nor Owen’s job. The children will be your responsibility alone, after all. 

“She’s quick,” she says instead. Hannah purses her lips.

“Perhaps upstairs with Miles?”

She isn’t. Miles, bent over a book with a solemn expression, blinks up at her as though she’s dragged him by the shirt collar out of the actual wardrobe to Narnia. 

“She asked me to color--what time is it?”

“Two,” Dani says, sparing the briefest glance for her watch. He shrugs. 

“An hour ago, I think? I told her to ask Hannah.” A flash of concern crosses his face, a too-adult creasing of brow. “Was that wrong? I just wanted to finish my book--”

“It’s fine,” Dani assures him, ruffling his hair. Too-adult, his expression may be, but this is the most kid she’s seen Miles in days. The last thing she wants is to dissuade him from reading, or from the loose sprawl of his posture. 

An hour, though. In the days since coming to Bly, Dani can’t remember twenty minutes passing without Flora turning up underfoot. 

Outside, she thinks with another swell of barely-restrained panic. She’s outside. By the lake, probably, where Flora can so often be found keeping company with dolls and talismans and snatches of ethereal song. 

It isn’t exactly a reassuring thought, particularly with summer rain sluicing down the windows, scattering over the roof like pellets. A storm, it isn’t, but an eight-year-old girl has no business wandering in weather like this. 

You'd have loved it, at her age, Dani reminds herself. There’s nothing at all wrong with a little girl puddle-jumping for the sheer joy of it. Flora probably got bored, cooped up with a bunch of busy adults and her brother uninterested in playing games. She’s fine. She’s almost certainly fine.

An umbrella is waiting beside the door, still damp from Owen’s trip in before breakfast. Dani takes a breath, pops it open, steels herself for the brisk wind. 

The grounds are gray, the puddles turning the grass to a squelchy mess beneath her shoes. She keeps her head up, her eyes carefully turned away from the puddles which sit like recklessly-dropped mirrors at every turn; if she so much as glances down and spots a flash of glasses, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her composure. 

Flora is not by the lake, as it turns out. Nor the statue gardens. Nor the rose bushes. Flora is nowhere, she’s starting to think, and her mind is finally turning toward the worst--toward the depth of that lake, how easily a small girl might slip off the embankment and tumble headlong into its hungry waves without notice--when she remembers the greenhouse.

Jamie will help. The thought rises without warning, a solid patch of sunlight at the center of the storm. Jamie will help--because Jamie knows every corner of these grounds as well as her own hands. Jamie, who maybe doesn’t know Dani all that well, but didn’t seem to mind offering gentle reassurance, exchanging unexpectedly deep conversation on the couch...or Dani taking her hand in the dark. Jamie, who had said, Who the hell knew? Jamie, who had worn an expression a little like awe.

They haven’t had time to talk about it since, but even so. Even so, for Flora, Jamie is sure to--

She hesitates at the door, fist raised to knock. It feels foolish, rapping on the entry to a greenhouse like it’s Jamie’s own bedroom--but this is, she reasons, as close to Jamie’s home as she’s ever likely to get. 

“Jamie, are you...”

“Here,” her voice comes from somewhere just out of sight. Dani takes a cautious step in out of the rain, jostling the umbrella and pulling it hastily shut. Best not to invite bad luck--she’s certainly already had her share. 

“I’m looking for Flora,” she calls, feeling a bit silly. There’s so much going on in this room--plants and tables, pots and a variety of outdoor furniture draped with old blankets. Normally, Jamie is easy to spot amid the riot of greens and pinks, her hands busy coaxing seedlings to life. Today, Dani feels as though she’s tripped and fallen into a game of hide and seek. 

“Don’t have to look far,” Jamie’s voice comes again--from behind the sofa, Dani thinks. “C’mere.”

“Miss Clayton!” Flora pipes up, and Dani feels the tension leave her body in a violent rush. Her hand grips the nearest table for support, her eyes closing in relief. “Come color with us”

“Come--sorry?” She can’t have heard right. Jamie? Jamie the gardener, putting aside work and temper to waste an afternoon on crayons?

Yes--yes, that appears to be exactly what Jamie is doing. Sprawled on her stomach, still dressed in her coveralls, she’s got a blue crayon in hand and a green one tucked behind her ear. She glances up as Dani steps nearer, a smile lighting her face. 

“Kid came stumbling in out of the rain an hour ago. Expect she didn’t think to warn you in advance?”

“Sorry.” Flora offers a sheepish smile, sitting up quickly. “Are you very cross?”

“No, of course not.” Just going to need a minute to purge the image of finding you facedown in the goddamned lake, is all. “Next time, though, you’ll have to tell me you’re leaving the house alone. I need to know where you are at all times, Flora.”

She expects Jamie to scoff at this--to say, Ah, she was with me, she’s fine. Instead, Jamie stretches over to land a sharp flick on Flora’s upper arm. 

“Rude to make Poppins worry. Look, she’s gone all pink.” She looks up at Dani, grinning. “Not a bad look, if we’re in the market for honesty.”

Dani suspects pink is the lightest shade she can manage, with Jamie gazing at her that way. It’s too easy, all of a sudden, to remember an unexpectedly soft hand under her own fingers, Jamie turning reflexively at the wrist to hold her back. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Flora says, a phrase Dani is starting to think is more Flora than even perfectly splendid. “Here--I was just about to do one of you!”

Jamie gestures with the blue crayon, a silent suggestion for Dani to sit beside her. “Might as well. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon.” She lowers her voice, eyes fixed on Flora’s determined rummage through the crayon box. “Sorry about that, Poppins. Know she’s been unpredictable lately, didn’t like the idea of her stumping around in the cold. If I’d known you were worried--”

“It’s all right.” In truth, she’s glad Flora made her way out here. Growing more pleased by the moment with this development, really, as Jamie slides a blank sheet of paper in front of her and presses a purple crayon into her hand. 

“Join us. We’re doing portraiture.”

“I can see that,” Dani laughs. Jamie’s handiwork speaks of a distinct lack of care for detail--each sketch on her page is, at best, a stick figure with a single defining feature. “How does Owen hold up his head, carrying a mustache the size of his torso?”

“With minimal decorum,” Jamie says, grinning. “And she’s right, it’s your turn.”

Dani suspects she’s going less pink, more a volatile shade of maroon, with both parties squinting at her face, their papers, her face again. Flora is doing her very best work, taking several minutes just to select the closest shades of blue, yellow, pink. Jamie makes an enormous production of holding up a crayon, closing one eye, gauging proportions--and then, cheerfully, scrawling a figure identical to the other four already on the page. 

“I’m taller than Hannah?” Dani asks, unable to resist a giggle. Jamie frowns.

“Ah, you’re...standin’ on a crate.” She adds a box beneath Dani’s non-existent feet with a flourish, nodding. “There. It’s symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“I’ve ranked you all on how much I like you. Takin’ into account, of course, certain accusations pointed my way regarding mud and shiny floorboards.” Jamie winks. Dani finds herself gripping her crayon almost hard enough to hurt. 

“You’re not drawing, Miss Clayton!” Flora observes. Dani glances away from Jamie’s smile--a difficult act only a few days ago, nearly impossible now--and clears her throat. 

“Well. Maybe just until the rain stops.”

There are, she thinks as a comfortable quiet settles over the greenhouse, infinitely worse ways to spend her afternoon. 

[strawberryshortpace]

Here’s a (way too long) bullet fic about Neil figuring out his style

He’s finally allowed to try and find a clothing style he likes and is comfortable with

He has absolutely no idea where to start so he considers his options

His first thought is Andrew but Andrew has already picked out some clothes for him when they went out and Neil wants to try something else

Neil thinks about asking one of the upperclassmen but they’d get the others involved and Neil doesn’t want it to be a big thing yet

So that leaves the monsters

Andrew’s out for reasons already explained

Aarons out because at this point Neil isn’t comfortable enough asking Aaron for help with something that would make him feel (even slightly) vulnerable

(Though they make it to that point eventually)

Kevin basically lives in athletic gear and while Neil thinks that’s be comfortable it’s wouldn’t be a big change from where he’s at now so he’s out

Which leaves us with Nicky

Nicky has a lot of experience with this type of thing because he started his life wearing what his parents wanted

Then he started experimenting with fashion when he started questioning his parents beliefs/rules

Then he was sent to conversion therapy and mostly went back to his parents choice of clothing (though he added more colors)

Then there was Germany where he got to try so many different trends without constantly being shamed/judged

So he has an idea of how Neil is feeling and how overwhelmed he probably is

So Nicky starts asking a couple questions about what Neil would and would be okay trying and what colors he likes wearing the most

(though Nicky is sad the answer is mostly neutral colors he knows it’s important to keep a couple elements Neil’s comfortable with so he’s more likely to wear the new clothes)

So they go out and grab a bunch of things that will actually fit Neil and are slightly more revealing (though they keep to more muted colors)

Nicky also grabs a few out there pieces that he hopes Neil will at least try on even if he doesn’t show anyone or buy the things Nicky wants him to try it at least

The outlandish pieces include a loose grey crop top, a yellow sweater, and a very sparkly shirt

While Neil tries them all on he isn’t comfortable enough to leave the dressing room and show Nicky

He isn’t a fan of the sparkles

And while the crop top was very comfortable he’s not at the point where he’ll wear something that’s likely to show off the scars on his stomach

So those 2 get put back

But the yellow sweater is big and comfortable and while Neil isn’t currently ready to go in public in something that bright (that isn’t for the foxes) he thinks he might be willing to wear it around the dorm soon enough so they end up buying it

At the end of the day Neil has tighter pants, more shortsleeved shirts that are actually his size and can sometimes show his muscles, and more muted reds and blues and slightly less grey (though there’s still a lot of grey cause he likes it)

The other foxes notice the slight change of clothes and compliment him and encourage him to try other things as well

A few weeks after the shopping trip Neil and Andrew go up onto the roof to smoke and talk and Neil grabs his new yellow sweater

He doesn’t put it on until they’re actually on the roof so no one but Andrew sees it but Neil notices Andrew looking and gets to say ‘staring’

Andrew who has been working with Betsy about saying what he’s feeling just goes ‘it’s the sweater. Looks nice on you’

After that when Neil and Andrew are alone (whether on the roof or in the dorm) Neil will usually choose the yellow sweater when he gets cold

2 months later neil and Andrew are hanging out (Neil in his sweater obviously) Neil gets a text from Matt asking if he wants to come over for movie night

While movies aren’t his thing Neil likes hanging with the team so he agrees and heads over with Andrew

Neil completely forgot he was wearing the sweater until the upperclassmen comment on how nice it looks and that they really like it

Neil spends the entire movie thinking about the response he’s gotten about the clothes and how much he really enjoys the new stuff

So at the end of the movie he goes over to Allison (who has only made a few comments about not being chosen for Neil’s makeover though when he explains his reasoning she stops) and asks if she’ll take him shopping

He says that while he wouldn’t mind any of the other upperclassmen coming he’d still prefer it only be the 2 of them

Now Allison has basically been allowed to do anything with her style her whole life (as long as she didn’t look like a complete mess) and she will push Neil’s boundaries more than Nicky will

(if Neil says something makes him uncomfortable she’ll stop pushing but add the piece to the try on pile and say he should at least try it on even if he shows no one)

Now the boundaries are pushed

Because of Neil’s build Allison knows he’s fit and look great in women’s clothing so she takes him to that section

She picks out some knit sweaters for him in some light colors (greys and pastels mainly) along with some fitted tank tops

But then we get into the options that no one but Neil will see (for now) and she grabs a flowy midi skirt, a loose crop top (she doesn’t know Nicky already had him try one), and some very tiny running shorts (if they’re for running he’s more likely to wear them)

And Neil tries them all on and finds he very much likes the sweaters because they’re oversized and comfortable but don’t make him look like he was on the run

The tank tops are iffy but since they’re tight there’s no chance of them moving and showing his scars so he gets them

Then he tries on the crop top and decides he can do the same thing he did with the yellow sweater and start by only wearing it around Andrew so he decides to get it this time

The running shorts are no question because they’re honestly better for ventilation while running

But then there’s the skirt

And Neil doesn’t hate it

In fact he really enjoys it and how comfortable it is while making him look nice (similar to the knit sweaters)

But he is no where near ready to wear it around anyone (even Andrew) and so it goes back on the shelf

Though he does tell Allison he liked it and is just comfortable with anyone seeing him that like

Once again as Neil wears the clothes more and more his teammates comment on how good it looks on him

Neil enjoys the compliments from his teammates and really enjoys how he feels wearing the clothing

(And catching Andrew staring while he’s wearing his new running shorts doesn’t hurt)

But the biggest thing is when he’s alone with Andrew in the dorm and decides to wear the crop top

And then Andrew notices and gets a tiny blush on his face which then immediately makes Neil blush

And so when they’re just hanging out in the dorm by themselves Neil will usually just throw on his crop top

And sometimes when they go for drives together Neil will put it under his jacket (which he keeps zipped up at any point the 2 aren’t in the car so no one else can see it’s cropped)

But eventually like the sweater he becomes so comfortable he doesn’t think twice about leaving the dorm in the crop top

One day about a month after he went shopping with Allison (long before he wore the crop top around anyone but Andrew) Allison drags him into her empty dorm room and gives him a plastic bag with the skirt he tried on in it

Allison had apparently gone back to the store they shopped at the next day and bought it for him

‘I know you said you weren’t comfortable wearing it around anyone but I figured you’d like to have it once you are’

Neil tears up a bit at this but thanks her and leaves it at that

Neither one of them mentions it again but both know how important it is

A very long time after being given the skirt Neil asks Andrew what he thinks about Neil wearing a skirt

Andrew being Andrew returns with a question of ‘do you want to wear a skirt?’

‘I think I do, but I wanted to know your feeling about it’

Andrew’s silent for a while before going ‘you’d look nice in a skirt’

*cue blushing*

Even longer after that during one of the breaks when Nicky is in Germany, Aaron is with Katelyn, Kevin is with Wymack and Abby, and Andrew and Neil are in Columbia alone

Neil mentions wanting to wear his skirt in public but wants it to be somewhere that they know people either won’t care or if some asshole says something they’ll be able to do something about it

So Andrew suggest Eden’s because if there’s anyone giving Neil a hard time about it they can tell the bouncers and have the person kicked out

And so Neil wears his skirt to edens and the bartenders and bouncers compliment him on it (he’s befriended them through Andrew since they’re there so much)